


A Place to Belong

by Russell_Craig



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russell_Craig/pseuds/Russell_Craig
Summary: Sent on a task for her Many Faced God Arya comes face to face with the Mother of Dragons.  After saving the Queen's life Arya is offered an opportunity to cross the sea and return to Westeros, where some of the names on her list still live and rule.





	1. Chapter 1

She moved around the floor flawlessly, with the grace of a dancer, a deadly dancer, with a long silver sword acting as an extension of her arm, delivering death wherever she wields it. Each strike took a piece out of the thick wooden dummy, but always at precise locations, the throat, the groin, the kidney. 

She knew the moment she was no longer alone and rotated toward the door. “Valar Dohaeris, my friend,” he said as he entered, approaching quickly without seeming to rush. 

“Valar Morghulis,” she answered back, slipping her blade into her scabbard before she used the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her face. 

“You are getting much better,” he said, a single finger peeking out from the wide sleeve of his robe and pointing to the damaged training dummy and the chunks of discarded wood haphazardly arranged on the floor. 

“I still have much to learn,” she answered quickly, bowing her head slightly to show her respect. 

The older man chuckled, a dark but sincere sound. “We all still have much to learn,” he promised. “The Water Dance can not be perfected, because no two people dance the same way. We must only continue to improve.”

Silence hung between them for a few seconds. “The Many Faced God requires your service.”

As those words sank in, her body visibly reacted. She stood up straighter, her muscles tightened in preparation for battle, and her hand inched closer to the sword hanging from her waist. “I will serve. Who will be getting the Gift?”

 

R-C

“Seven Hells its hot!” she cursed as she swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand. The oppressive sun felt as though it was aimed directly at her as she moved through the streets searching out a spot of shade, however small. With one hand she pulled at the thin grey cloak she wore, separating it from her already overheated flesh. Although the cloak did nothing but add to the heat, it was a necessity, to hide not only her identity but the many weapons she was concealing. 

For a brief moment while she cursed the heat again her mind travelled back years to her childhood. Before she was No One she had been a child of the North. Winter was coming and wolves weren’t meant to be this far South. 

As quickly as that thought began, she wrestled it back into its cage, where it belonged. Arya Stark was gone, she was as dead as her father and her mother, as dead as any of the faces she wore. Arya was just one more in a long line of masks. Remembering wouldn’t help anybody. Arya Stark may have been raised in Winterfell, a true Northerner who preferred snow to sun and for who life at court couldn’t hold the appeal of battle but she was not Arya any longer, she was No One. No One wasn’t fenced in by Arya’s past, she could be anyone she wanted or needed to be. She could enjoy the sun and thrive on the sport of political backstabbing if that’s what it took for her to reach her target. 

Focusing on the job helped to keep Arya Stark’s memories at bay. The Many Faced God had sent her on a task of the upmost importance. Apparently one of the few surviving slavers in Meereen, a pig named Nazir had come to Braavos and attempted to hire a Faceless Man to assassinate the Dragon Queen. The contract was refused of course, not only because he couldn’t afford the fee, but because the House of Black and White abhorred slavery and would not kill the Breaker of Chains without cause. 

No One had been sent to not only give the Gift to Nazir, but also to warn the Queen of the danger. Although she’d never admit it to anyone but herself, this was the type of job the assassin would gladly do for free. Just like the names on her list, she truly believed the world was better off without certain people in it, people like Cersei, the Mountain and Nazir. 

 

R-C

 

She found him drinking in a tavern on the fourth night of her hunt. With a whore on his lap and a drink in his hand he regaled anyone who would listen with tales about the ‘good ole days.’ 

Before she went inside she slipped into the darkened alley and closed her eyes. With a silent prayer to the Many Faced God she traced the thick, jagged scar that started at her temple and stretched across the entirety of her forehead before it disappeared up under her overgrown hair. It burned at first, but only for a moment as the skin, muscles and bones shifted. 

With a grunt of effort and pain it was over. She didn’t need a mirror to see, she could feel it. The face she wore was no longer the lost girl from Winterfell but that of a man, a soldier. The grey cloak she wore to hide her weapons would also conceal her limited figure.

Walking into the tavern she felt the eyes on her. She took a seat close to Nazir and ordered a round, and then another. It was during her second drink that she commented, agreeing with something the drunken slaver was saying. 

The fat elderly man with a thick beard laughed heartedly and kicked out a chair from his table, inviting her to sit. She did and introduced herself as Arry a sell-sword looking for work. For an hour they drank and told stories until Nazir was ready to leave. 

They left together and the assassin noticed Nazir intended to walk. “No horse?” she wondered aloud. 

He spat on the ground. “Not anymore,” he slurred, drunk. “I lost everything when that Dragon Bitch came here.”

This was it, her moment, she could sense it, and it excited her in a way few things did anymore. Her blood moved through her body with a greater speed, feeling like it was bubbling under her skin. “Oh, I hate that stupid whore,” she responded, doing her best to sound as drunk as he was. “If I knew where she was, I’d gut her for free, that meddling little twat.”

Stumbling down the street, using the wall of a building for support Nazir stopped abruptly, looked to his newest friend and smiled. “You would?”

“Of course. I had a good thing in Qarth until that whore showed up. She ruined it.”

The drunk slaver put his hand on Arry’s shoulder. “I like you boy. I’ll tell you what, I have a job for you. Meet me here tomorrow and you might just get your wish.”

A tiny smirk graced the soldier’s face for the briefest of instants. “I look forward to it,” she said sincerely, to herself and Nazir alike. 

 

R-C

 

For once in her life everything felt like it was coming together perfectly. Not since her time with the Khal had she been so truly happy. She’d freed her people and they loved her for it. Now armed with a fleet of ships, an army of loyal soldiers, Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan and Tyrion it was time for her to take back her throne. 

With a smile on her face she slipped from her tent and savored the taste of salt in the air, coming from the nearby bay. Moments after she appeared Missandei was by her side, as she always was. “Do you need something Khaleesi?”

She shook her head and felt the hair moving behind her in the breeze. “It’s a lovely day,” she declared. “Missandei let’s take a walk.”

As he always did Jorah agreed to go with her and in addition he brought along one of Grey Worm’s men and Kovarro, a Dothraki that had been with her since the beginning. They were an eclectic group that definitely drew attention. 

“Are you sure about this Khaleesi?” Jorah wondered as he took note of all the stares. 

“Soon we’ll be aboard a ship, sailing for Westeros. After weeks at sea I bet you’ll wish to go for a long walk,” she countered. 

Bowing his head in both agreement and surrender he led the group through the market, past the smiths and toward the food vendors. 

 

R-C

 

She stayed at the rear of the formation, watching the others closely. There were five, in addition to her, all hardened soldiers, all hired by Nazir and all very clear on their objective, to kill the Mother of Dragons.

While they waited in an alley the killer prepared to attack, but before she could one of the men held out his thick finger and pointed. Approaching was a group that included two women in cloaks, some soldiers and a Dothraki savage, it had to be the Targaryen girl. 

The oldest of the sell-swords barked orders and Arry was sent with one of the others to secure the potential escape route through the alley. The man she was with reminded her of her brothers, not so much in appearance but in the way he carried himself, strong and dependable. 

She felt a flicker of guilt as she urged him into a desolate alley first, only to draw a blade from up the sleeve of her cloak to slice his throat. He gasped, reached for his wound and collapsed. She whispered a prayer to the Many Faced God before she returned the dagger to its hiding place. 

With one dead there were still others left to kill. She took off running through the streets, searching for any sign of them. She was nearing the docks when she heard it, the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed, and then another. Immediately she tensed, bending down as if to tie her boot while her eyes swept from side to side for danger. She was entirely No One now, Arya’s childhood forgotten, because while that little girl couldn’t fight, couldn’t kill, couldn’t survive, No One could, and would. 

Her trained ears picked up the sounds easily, steel meeting steel, grunts of effort, a woman’s gasp. The sounds propelled the killer faster, racing through the labyrinth of alleys until she reached the right place. 

She understood automatically what had happened as she stepped into the mouth of the alley. Although she hadn’t been there to see it, she could picture it with amazing clarity just the same. The remaining sell-swords against five travellers, three men and two women. 

First, she took note of the arrows she’d heard, the first landed in the dirt, feet from where the travellers had been walking, likely to stop their progress. The second arrow was lodged in the neck of one of the male travellers, a soldier who had been guarding the Queen. Apparently he didn’t listen and now he was dead or dying, another offering to the Many Faced God. 

Quickly assessing the situation, she could see that one of the guards, a broad, topless savage with dark skin and darker hair was battling one of the sell-swords, while another bled out at his feet. Across the alley the third guard, an older pale man was combatting two sell-swords of his own but losing.

Drawing her sword, she shrugged back the hood covering her shaggy hair and slipped into the battle with a single graceful step, dodging a wide blade and slicing an arc across the sell-sword’s middle. The stunned look on his face at being betrayed was priceless and she savored it as she dodged an attack. The older man she’d stepped in to aide met her eyes for an instant before he turned back to his opponent. “Who are you?” he shouted. 

With a playful smirk she danced under another slash and delivered a strike of her own against her enemy’s leg. “Later!” 

As she fought she felt the ease that only combat could bring, the comfort. She knew what was expected of her now, kill or be killed, this she understood, this she could do. 

Her dance was coming to an end, and though she’d been cut along the forearm and dropped her weapon she had others. Before long she stood behind the kneeling, unarmed sell-sword she was battling, holding his golden hair with one hand, and a dagger to his throat with the other. Keeping her eyes open she said a quick and silent prayer to her God, before she presented him with an unrequested offering. 

Before she could draw the blade across his bobbing throat, a woman’s cry commanded her attention. She looked up, toward the women and saw the smaller of the two, in her white cloak, trying to push past the other to get to her friend. As they struggled the taller woman’s hood fell to her shoulders, exposing rich brown skin and loose curls of dark hair. Arry’s eyes shifted to the other woman, in white. She was the Queen, had to be. 

Following the Queen’s eyes, she saw the reason for concern. Her savage was down, on his back, bleeding from wounds to his chest and back. While his eyes stayed on the man above him, his hand felt around in the bloody dirt for a weapon, any weapon. As the women cried the assassin knew what would happen next. The Dothraki had lost his battle, all that was left now was the final blow. 

Suddenly she felt conflicted. On one hand she knew this was a battle and in battle people died, but on the other hand she’d been sent to protect the Queen, to aide her and didn’t that include the others too? Her eyes flicked back to the Queen and even with the hood covering part of her face, even with the distance between them she could see the pain in her eyes. It didn’t seem right for a woman who had done so much for so many to be in such anguish.

Without time to fully contemplate her reasons she simply acted. All at once she kneed her captive, sending him face first into the dirt. Narrowing her grey eyes, she took aim, turned the dagger over in her hand, and threw. It sliced through the air, moving end over end until it met its target, the sell-sword’s throat. 

Successful as she was she didn’t have time to celebrate. “Look out!” a feminine voice called from the rear of the alley. Instinctively she knew it was meant for her. With no time to look she dove to her left, but felt the telltale burn of a cut in her side anyway. 

As she popped back onto her feet she became aware that the man she’d bested in combat was once again standing, and holding a sword. Her decision to save the savage might prove costly. 

From the corner of her eye she could see the two women were huddling around the wounded Dothraki, tending to him, while the elder guard attempted to stand, only to wobble and stagger before dropping to one knee.

“Stay down,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

The two remaining men laughed. “Fine,” one said to the other, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hear that, he’ll be fine. Bastard betrays us but he’ll be fine.” 

The laughter seemed to awaken something and the woman in the white cloak stood tall and regal as she marched straight for the men who wanted her, without fear. “I demand you let us go!” she called. “Do you know who I am.”

As fruitless as it was, the assassin had to admire the Queen’s courage. “M’lady, perhaps you should wait with your friends until this is over.”

One of the two sell-swords turned his attention to the Queen. “Listen here,” he spat, closing the distance between them in a single stride. 

He reached out with one hand, until he was just about to push back her hood, but the assassin’s words stilled him. “Come on boys,” she teased. “You can’t have her, till you’re finished with me.”

“I’ll take whatever the fuck I please,” he vowed, his hand once again moving toward the woman hidden under the hood. “Nazir just wants her dead, he didn’t say I couldn’t have fun with her first.”

For the killer something shifted. Anger surged through her and she wanted nothing more than his blood. A threat she didn’t even consider making escaped from her dry lips. “Touch her and I’ll take your head!”

All around them startled eyes locked in on the stranger, turned savior, turned warrior, but the killer never once looked away from the man she now intended to kill. 

“You’re hardly in a position to make threats,” he reminded her with a chuckle. “That’s going to leave quite a scar,” he said pointing the tip of his sword toward the gaping wound on her side. 

The pain she felt faded to the background and all there was, was death. With a wicked grin she stepped forward until they were face to face. She reached up and traced a bloody finger over the spot where her scar usually sat. 

“Well if it does scar, at least it won’t be my first one, but you know, it’s like we always say in Braavos, Valar Morghulis”

“You’re…” he stopped, unable or unwilling to continue. The House of Black and White and the servants who lived there were famous for their skills, on both sides of the sea. 

For a long moment he was stunned silent and that tiny window was all she needed. Leaping for him she grabbed his wrist and twisted violently. Every living thing in the alley heard the snapping sound and the clatter of the weapon hitting the ground as he was forced to release. After a brief struggle, she delivered a knee to his groin and sent him to the ground. Standing over him she felt only rage. She grabbed his throat and squeezed, ignoring the voices calling to her in the background. 

She was No One, a servant of the Many Faced God, she was a killer, an assassin, a phantom. She kept squeezing, lost in the violent haze. She couldn’t hear the cries of the others in the alley, she couldn’t feel the sun on her skin, or the pain of her wounds, it was all too deeply buried under her fury. 

Everything came rushing back the instant the blade entered her back. Then it was all suddenly real again, the unforgiving heat, the pain, the sound of someone screaming. 

Aware the blade was still in her body, she acted fast, throwing her right arm back as hard as she could, in a violent elbow toward her attacker’s face. She felt a small measure of comfort as she heard him groan in pain, before she fell forward. 

Her eyes felt as though they weighed a ton each as she commanded her body to roll over, only to find it struggling to complete the most basic commands. 

She was dying, she knew it. Whether she was Arya Stark, No One or someone else entirely she didn’t know, but whoever she was, she was dying. 

She heard voices, people were talking, but it sounded so far away, as though she were very deep underwater. Her right hand, the only one working at the moment inched toward her boot, where the weapon would be. It took far longer than she would have liked to reach for her blade, but the talking around her continued as she struggled. 

Not long after she got her hand on the weapon she managed to make sense of the words she was hearing too. “Let us go, leave her be, and I’ll spare your life. You have my word.”

“She’s already dead,” he said, kicking the fallen assassin for good measure, “your friends too,” he said looking to the wounded. “I’m going to kill them all and then me, you and that cute little friend of yours can have some fun together.” He laughed darkly. “I bet I can make her scream.”

Again, rage filled up the space where everything else should be. She didn’t feel the pain as she pushed herself up. She didn’t feel the dizziness as she swayed, first on her knees, then her feet. She didn’t feel the extra weight of the blade still buried under her shoulder, or the chill that the blood loss was causing. 

It was the Queen’s gasp at seeing the believed dead woman rise that alerted the sell sword, but she didn’t care, she’d kill him regardless. “You again?” he said with another dark laugh. 

She grinned back at him as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “Me again.” 

Off to her right the elder of the guards attempted to stand again, to aide her, but it was pointless and slow. The killer waited until her opponent got close enough, and then pretended to stumble. In response he grabbed her cloak and pulled and she went willingly toward him, embracing him in an awkward hug as she struggled not to fall. “Pitiful,” he spat in disgust. “I thought they trained you better at the H…”

He never got to finish as the small three-inch dagger from her boot was lodged into his neck. His grip on her loosened and he staggered back weakly, grasping at the injury. For her part the woman who killed him stayed conscious just long enough to be certain he was dead, before she collapsed next to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimers apply, I don’t own anything you recognize in this chapter or any other.

She paced back and forth across the tent, her braided hair swaying from side to side with each sharp turn of her head. Missandei approached her cautiously. “Would you like tea Khaleesi, to help you rest?” 

Daenerys spun around and locked her eyes on the former slave. “How is he? Have you heard?”

She smiled kindly and stepped closer, more as a friend now than a subject. “They are still attempting to heal the damage,” she explained gently. “The Maester said it is a miracle of the Gods that she is still alive at all.”

Stunned Daenerys glared at Missandei as though she didn’t understand the word. “She?”

“Yes your Grace,” she verified. “The Maester was most surprised when he removed her clothes to assess her wounds and found a woman’s body underneath. Man or woman she should be dead.”

Daenerys felt her body reflexively flinch at the thought. “She saved us,” she declared firmly. 

“Yes, your Grace.” 

“She didn’t need to, she could have kept walking, could have ignored it, pretended not to see…” her words trailed off unsure of what she intended to say exactly. 

“She was very brave…”

“And skilled,” the Queen added quickly, thinking back to the graceful way the savior moved, as if she were perfectly calm, as if there weren’t men attempting to kill her.

The screams echoed throughout the camp and Daenerys couldn’t stand it. The stranger had nearly died for her, for them, and she might not even get to say thank you. 

Acting on a whim she intended to go straight to the tent where the girl was being healed and ensure they had all they needed, but before she could Ser Jorah blocked her escape. 

She looked at her friend, pleased to see he wasn’t as injured as she first suspected. His clothes and skin were dotted with blood, belonging to him and others. He was capable of walking under his own power, although with a limp to his step. She also noticed the clean white bandages covering almost the whole of his arm. “Khaleesi,” he began. 

“How is the girl?” she demanded to know, pushing to the back everything else Jorah intended to say. 

The look she received from her advisor and friend was one of pity now. Unlike her he didn’t seem surprised she was a woman. “The girl’s wounds are severe your Grace,” he told her truthfully, as if the use of her formal title might take the sting out of his words. “She is alive for now, but I doubt she’ll live through the night.”

Daenerys showed no emotion, but only because emotions were valuable and as a Queen she had to keep them hidden. With a slight downward turn of her lips and a nod of her head she thanked him, but on the inside she was furious, furious at the men who attacked her, who harmed her new friend, and furious at everyone who kept saying she was going to die. “Who were they? Who is she?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, answering both questions at once. “I’ve sent some of the men into town to find out what they can. I suspect it is a pre-emptive strike from our friends in King’s Landing, trying to kill you before we set sail tomorrow.”

How could she forget? They’d been planning for a long time and now it was finally happening. She would set sail tomorrow with her army, she would take back her throne and rule her people. For years that was all that mattered, now as she thought about leaving a knot tied in her stomach. 

Shifting to her most regal and authoritative voice she addressed the former knight. “We can not leave until after the girl wakes. I must speak to her.”

“Khaleesi…”

“She saved our lives,” she reminded him harshly. “I will not simply sail off and forget about her. I must speak to her. I must see that she’s well.”

“I will ensure she is taken care of,” he promised. “I’ll pay to have her cared for…”

“Paid?” she roared, slapping her hand across the table, knocking a wooden boat off the map where it had been marking their location. “Tell me Ser Jorah, what is my life worth? How much shall we pay this girl for saving me? And don’t forget she saved your life too!”

Twice his mouth opened to answer, only to close before sound escaped. Taking that as agreement she locked eyes with her advisor and made her point abundantly clear. “No boat sets sail until I decide!”

Bowing his head and aiming his eyes down, Jorah relented. “Of course Khaleesi.”

R-C

After dinner she met with all of her advisors, Barristan and Jorah were there, along with Grey Worm, Tyrion, Darrio and Missandei.

Always the first to break the ice Tyrion reached for his glass and spoke to the room. “Sounds like you all had quite the eventful day.” For his part Tyrion had been out in the city seeing to some affairs on Daenerys’s behalf.

Jorah had a look of contempt on his face. “That’s one word for it.” 

“Do you know who they were?” Barristan asked. 

“Not yet,” Tyrion answered, “but I suspect we’ll hear soon. Word has spread that there was an attempt on their Queen and the people of Meereen are up in arms.”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, the people have suffered enough. Send some of our troops out to keep the peace. There is no need for senseless death.”

“They tried to kill you!” Jorah shouted as he leapt from his chair, knocking it over in the process. “If ever there was time for death, it is now.”

She gave him a wry smile and waited patiently for him to sit again. “Yes, there will be death,” she promised, “but the people of Meereen didn’t hire those sell-swords, the people of Meereen didn’t want this, and I don’t want them harmed for me.”

Grey Worm stood from his seat. “I will lead the troops myself.”

She smiled at her friend. “Thank you.”

Once he was gone Tyrion again cut through the quiet. “Is there any chance that they,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “they didn’t know who you were? You were wearing the cloak correct?” When Daenerys nodded, the dwarf continued, his eyes moving from Daenerys to Missandei and back. “Is it possible that these thugs were simply out looking for trouble when they happened upon you?”

All eyes turned to Jorah for confirmation. “They were expecting us,” he admitted, “as if they knew where to look.” He reached for his glass but kept talking as he did. “The skill they had, the weapons, they were very expensive and while they never said it, they knew who you were. I don’t believe in coincidences. I heard the name Nazir and I’ll find him, whoever he is.”

“And what of the one who saved you?” Barristan asked. 

Jorah and Daenerys shared a loaded look. “She is being tended to, but she was gravely injured I’m afraid.”

Daenerys was so lost in thoughts of her protector that she almost didn’t hear the next question. “What of Kovarro? What was the extent of his injures?”

“He will be fine,” Jorah guaranteed. “His wounds will heal and we all know the Dothraki come from hearty stock.”

“Where is he then?” he wondered, looking to the chair the long-haired warrior usually occupied. 

Before Daenerys could regain control of the conversation Tyrion answered, “Last I saw him he was standing over the girl’s bed, making the Maester very nervous.”

For a few moments Daenerys struggled to picture it. Kovarro was one of her oldest friends, and her most loyal commanders, but it was difficult to imagine him standing watch over the girl. Then all at once she understood. She cleared her throat gently and addressed the room as though she’d been paying attention all along. “She saved his life,” she said in explanation. “The Dothraki take that sort of thing very seriously.” She felt a small smile curling her lips. “I suspect he won’t leave her side until she’s awake.”

Quiet filled the tent for a few moments until Jorah shattered it. “If that’s the case then perhaps we should discuss the invasion. The ships are loaded, the army is ready, we could leave at sunrise.”

Daenerys was angry, angry that she had to address this again. She’d already told him she didn’t want to leave until the girl woke. Was once not enough? “We will leave when I’m ready and not before,” she told him bluntly. “What of the girl? Do you know who she is, where she came from, how she happened to be in that alley or why she has the face of a man?” all her questions tumbled out in a rush, the words barely separated by space in a very unladlylike fashion. 

“I’m not certain your Grace,” Darrio told her with a smile and a flirty wink. “She is not a local that is for certain…”

“That’s because she’s from Westeros,” Tyrion interrupted while refilling his glass. 

This had Daenerys’s attention. “Are you certain?” While she waited for his reply another thought came to her. “When did you see her? She was already in the tent when you returned.”

Tyrion shrugged his small shoulders and looked rather guilty. “I may have snuck into the tent for a moment your Grace,” he said in his most innocent voice, “but only because its all the men have been talking about, ‘the girl who saved the queen, the girl who saved the queen’, I just had to see it for myself.”

The more time she spent with Tyrion the harder it was becoming to not see and appreciate the humor in his actions. She wanted to be cross that he interfered with the Maester’s work but she just wasn’t all that bothered. While she might not be ready to admit it quite yet, she liked having the Lannister around. “So you know her?”

“Well, uh, not directly your Grace, but with the look of her, I’m certain she’s from across the sea, those angular features, the fierceness, I’d wager she’s from the North.”

“So she came to defend me? Do you think she was aware of the plot against me? Aware of who I am? Did she arrive to save me?”

The men around the table looked at one another, deciding who would answer. In the end it was Jorah who drew the short straw. “I do not believe so,” he told her simply and Daenerys had no idea which of her questions he was answering. “In the alley I heard her speak of Braavos, and one of the sell-swords claimed she betrayed him, she carries a Braavosi blade, and that scar on her face…” he trailed off without finishing, which only angered the Queen further. 

“What are you saying?”

“I believe our savior was a member of the Faceless Men,” Jorah explained, after a slight delay. 

While she’d heard the name the Queen knew very little about the order. It was common knowledge they were assassins, and she knew they had a temple in Braavos and that those sick of life could walk through the doors and never return, but that was the extent of her knowledge on the subject. The reactions of her advisors made it clear they knew plenty more than she did. 

“You think…” Darrio stopped short. “She was that skilled?” he asked, looking to Jorah for confirmation. “I once saw a Faceless Man cut through a half dozen armored fighters and he made it look easy.” 

The old soldier nodded, but when his mouth opened it was Daenerys’s voice the room heard. “Were it not for her, we all would be dead. She saved Kovarro’s life and once Jorah was hurt she fought off the last two attackers by herself.”

Darrio was impressed and did nothing to hide his feelings. “Truly? That small little girl?”

“Another skilled fighter is not a bad thing to have around,” Tyrion pointed out between sips. 

“You can’t be serious!” Jorah retorted. “If the girl survives she’ll likely be crippled. Not to mention if she is of the Faceless Men then it’s not safe for her to be here.”

Daenerys had no idea what it was about the girl that Jorah didn’t like, but she was growing tired of it. When Tyrion was in the middle of speaking, she held up her hand and stopped him. He sat back in his chair and she took over. “Ser Jorah,” she said formally, “you saw the girl fight, she saved us both, do you really think she’d be of no benefit here?”

His cheeks reddened under her attention. “She is a gifted killer certainly, and I am thankful for her assistance today but forgetting her injuries for a moment we can not simply accept her into our army.”

“And why not?”

Jorah’s anger seemed to bloom with every word. “If she is truly a member of the House of Black and White then she is not available to serve, because she is already sworn to another.” 

“There is royalty in Braavos?” Daenerys wondered, thinking back to childhood. 

“Not royalty Khaleesi,” he corrected. “Servants of the Faceless Men are sworn to a God.”

Daenerys was surprised. “A God?”

“The God of Death.”

R-C

Daenerys slipped into the tent as quietly as she could. She’d heard the screams and the cries for hours and couldn’t wait any longer. The Maester looked up from his book when she entered and was surprised to see her. He bowed formally. “You… your Grace,” he stuttered. 

She nodded and gifted him with a small smile. “Sorry to interrupt your reading Maester, I understand you’ve had a busy day.”

“No busier than yours, my Queen.”

She nodded in agreement. “How is she?” she asked pointing her eyes at the girl. 

“Still alive, thank the Gods.”

Daenerys needed more information. She approached the bed and was taken aback to find the rumors true. Although her facial features were masculine, she had the body of a woman, a very strong woman undoubtedly but woman none the less. Looking at her now, she just appeared to be sleeping. Her shirt had been removed and she had two distinct sets of bandages, one on her side, covering the long slice she suffered, while the upper half of her chest was almost entirely wrapped from her neck to her breasts. Both bandages had small red spots on them. After watching in silence for a few minutes the Queen took comfort from the fact that the spots didn’t appear to be growing larger. Also concerning was the large number of scars covering her body, detailing a lifetime of pain. 

From where he was watching Kovarro listened but did not move, standing like a statue near the tent’s wall, one hand hovering over his favorite weapon. 

“How are you?” she asked the Dothraki in his native tongue. Unlike Jorah his wounds hadn’t been bandaged, but she could see the thread to some stitches.

“I will heal Khaleesi,” he promised her. 

She tilted her head to the side slightly. “Go and find Missandei, she will get your dinner. You need rest for the many battles to come.”

Kovarro looked uncomfortable, conflicted between following the order and obeying his customs. “I…”

Before he had to choose Daenerys ended his torment. “You may stay if you wish, but no harm will come to her, you have my word.”

He bowed his head and adjusted his position slightly against the tent’s wall. The Queen smiled to herself. 

The girl on the table began to spasm and immediately the Maester’s book was closed and he was over her working. While Daenerys demanded to know what was happening the older man ran into the adjoining tent and came back with ice. Wrapping the ice in cloth he packed it tightly around her body. 

While Daenerys watched the assassin’s skin went from gravely pale, to bright red. Concerned for the girl she forgot her role as Queen and allowed herself to be Daenerys for a moment. Without thinking about what was or wasn’t proper she hurried to the bed and began mimicking the Maester’s actions. She filled fragments of cloth with ice and pressing them against her overheated body. Each bead of sweat she noticed forming on her skin urged Daenerys to work faster.

Everyone in the room was startled when the girl’s body jerked and she ended the silence with a strangled groan. With obvious effort she attempted to move until she ran out of energy and collapsed back to the bed.

Out of the corner of her violet eye Daenerys saw a tiny flicker of the girl’s left hand. A movement so small she wondered if it was her imagination playing tricks. She reached out to touch it but was stopped when the unconscious girl spoke. “Too hot!” she complained. 

Immediately Daenerys snatched her hand back, although she hadn’t touched her. If the girl was already hot, touching a woman with the blood of the dragon wouldn’t make things any better. With new concern she got back to work applying the ice while carefully ensuring her hands never touch the girl’s skin directly. 

Within the hour the fever broke and the girl drifted off to what appeared to be a more peaceful rest. Much later when she came out of the tent she wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Missandei waiting for her. “You should get some rest,” she told her friend. “It’s been a long day and I suspect tomorrow will be much the same.”

The Summer Islander waved in the direction of their tents and they fell into step together. “I heard the Maester say she may live.”

“I truly hope so,” she admitted. A long second passed before she added, as an afterthought. “It’d be rude not to thank her for saving our lives.”

Missandei chuckled. “Very true your Grace.”

R-C

 

Pain, that’s all she felt, that’s all there was, was pain. Weakly she attempted to move her fingers and after a slight delay, her limb complied. Keeping her eyes closed and her breathing even she listened to the room around her. There was a fog in her mind and she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there. The potential for danger had her on edge. Over time she got a handle on her situation, the physical aspects at least. Her head still throbbed, but her ears were no longer ringing and she managed to crack an eye on command, although it was far more exhausting than it should have been.

Who was she? Where was she? Was she dead? She started with what should have been the easiest of the three questions, she was Arya Stark of Winterfell, or at least she had been until she became No One. As for where she was or if she was dead, she still didn’t know. 

As her ears grew stronger she took note of another person nearby, she could hear them breathing. She pushed the pain aside and focused. It was coming from her right, close to her head. Wrestling her heavy eyes open a bit more, she took stock of her surroundings. A woman in a flowing white dress moved about the tent… was she in a tent? Why would she be in a tent? It was difficult to focus and impossible to remember. 

Her hand inched toward her waist where she kept her sword but she found nothing there. She cursed internally as she shifted slightly in search of a weapon. 

With little in the way of options she would have to make due. Waiting patiently until the mysterious woman got close enough she prepared herself. When it happened it happened in a blink. One moment she was lying helpless on the bed and the next she was awake, grabbing the woman’s small wrist in one hand while she took the crystal glass of water from beside the bed with the other. 

The girl shrieked in protest but the assassin wasn’t bothered. Fighting through her pain she broke the glass against the table’s edge, spilling the water everywhere and sending glass shards raining down. Keeping hold of a particularly gruesome looking piece she laid back and pulled her captive with her, pressing the glass into the side of her neck to prove she was serious. 

Using her limited energy, she began to sweat and she noticed her hands shaking like some rookie. “Let her go!” a strong voice commanded from the doorway, but her eyes blurred and had trouble finding it. 

The killer looked up and was surprised to see they were no longer alone in the tent. The pounding in her head grew worse as she tried to remember. Who were these people? Where was she? After a few hard blinks she returned to the present and a conversation she had apparently missed the beginning of. 

“Are you sure?” one of the sword-wielding men in the doorway asked. 

“Yes, I am.” The answer came from the woman on top of her, the captive. 

“Khaleesi…”

That word, ‘Khaleesi’, she’d heard it before. She knew it was important but she couldn’t place it. It was as if all her memories and thoughts were jumbled together. 

“Release her or I’ll cleave you in two.”

“No one is going to cleave anybody,” the captive commanded. “I am fine Ser Jorah, I simply startled the girl, that’s all. Everything’s fine.”

“Tell her to put down the glass…”

She ignored the angry man’s words and looked backward, up at the woman threatening her. Their eyes met, deep grey against violet. “My name is Daenerys,” she explained softly. “You can release the glass, no one will harm you here, you have my word.”

The killer scoffed at the notion of peace and made no move to release her only bargaining chip. Her eyes were wild, flickering from her face to face. 

In an attempt to reign in the situation Daenerys decided to try another tactic. “Grey Worm,” she called. 

He stepped forward past Ser Jorah and Kovarro and dropped to his knee in front of the bed. The killer squinted as she tried to understand. Who were these people? Where was she? What was going on?

Daenerys nodded to her Unsullied commander. “This woman is my guest,” she said plainly. “Do you understand? No one is to harm her.”

“I understand.”

She looked away from the warrior and back at her captor again. For a second time their eyes met and for an instant Arya didn’t feel her pain. Something felt familiar about this woman, with her strange eyes and white hair. 

“Grey Worm, if anyone harms this girl you are to kill them. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

With her eyes locked on the grey pair behind her Daenerys spoke gently. “Can you put the glass down now?”

Choices bounced around in her head and she struggled to follow one path to its conclusion. Everything was crowded and chaotic and loud. Words kept repeating in her mind, words like, ‘Khaleesi’ and ‘Grace,’ and ‘Daenerys.’ 

More movement at the mouth to the tent drew her attention and she nearly dropped the glass in response to what she saw. Tyrion Lannister standing between the two commanders as if he were King of the World. “More excitement?” he quipped as he took in the scene. 

Memories belonging to Arya Stark raced around inside her head, broken free from their cage. She remembered when he first came to Winterfell, and how she’d been excited to meet him. Her hand on the glass lowered slightly while her grip on the woman loosened. He looked different, older with a beard on his chin and a scar splitting the center of his face. Still though he looked every bit a Lannister. “Imp?”

The violet eyed woman glared. “You said you didn’t know her.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I don’t. Truly. I would never lie to a Queen.”

The glass shard lowered further as it all came rushing back. The heat of Meereen, delivering the Gift, using a man’s face, fighting the sell-swords, the Queen. 

She looked at the woman she was holding and the pieces came together. She knew where she was now, and how she’d gotten there. Whether it was Khaleesi or Queen she knew of only one woman who could hold such titles. Both of her weak hands fell to her sides and she dropped the shard of glass onto the bed carelessly. Free Daenerys lifted off her, and stepped back. 

“Thank you,” the Queen said. 

“You’re the Queen,” she muttered. “Mother of Dragons.”

She was unconscious again before anyone could fashion a reply.

 

R-C

 

It was mere minutes before sunrise when the girl on the insanely comfortable bed stirred again. Just like the last time she started with her body, verifying the had control, one piece at a time. Still no blade waiting on her hip but she wasn’t sure she’d need it. She felt no danger. The search for understanding was largely slowed by the pain she felt so intently that just breathing required effort

 

Just as before she could hear someone’s breathing and she pictured the girl with the silky-looking hair, violet eyes and the softest skin she’d ever touched. She didn’t want to scare her this time, in fact she felt plenty guilty about the last time. 

She made it a point not think of her father. Arya Stark’s life was over and she was No One now. No One didn’t have or need a father. No One didn’t need anyone. Still as she recalled what she’d done, holding a piece of broken glass to Daenerys Targaryen’s neck, she thought of Eddard Stark and what he would say. He’d be appalled surely, that she’d threatened a woman who had done everything she could to save her unworthy life. She knew her father would demand justice, and Arya knew what the price would be. 

With her eyes barely open she saw a fresh glass waiting where the other had once been. Another glass of water? Was this woman foolish or simply courteous? The Northerner suspected it was likely a little of both. 

Lifting her head to see more she immediately took note that she was in the same tent as before. There were no weapons or chains nearby and only the water on the table in the event of an emergency. It seemed her hosts didn’t intend to keep her against her will, at least not yet. And while that wasn’t much, it was a start. The last thing she noted was that the face that was watching her was not the small pale queen she’d saved and then held captive, but the Dothraki she’d aided in the alley. 

With a grunt of effort, she attempted to sit, pushing her legs off the bed easily and just letting them fall roughly to the ground. Kovarro rushed to her side, pushing gently on her uninjured side to lower her back into bed. 

“You ride with the Queen?” she asked, genuinely curious. 

His answer came in a language she didn’t understand. 

During her second attempt to leave her body upright she wobbled more, shook violently and cursed in every language she knew but she didn’t fall. 

While her focus was on getting up, Kovarro was speaking in the harsh, guttural voice of his. Moments later Daenerys arrived with Tyrion and Ser Jorah half a step behind. She grunted through the pain and pushed herself up before she curled in against her own body, her arm instinctively folding into her chest to minimize the agony. 

Tentatively she took a shuffled step and wobbled. 

Daenerys was by her side in a flash, guiding the killer’s scarred arm over her shoulders so she could lead her back to the bed. 

Neither spoke until after she was back, safe and relatively comfortable in bed. “First and foremost…” Daenerys began, only to be cut off by the Northern girl. 

“First and foremost I must apologize to all of you,” Arya said. “When I woke here I was confused. I meant you no harm. I don’t mean any of you any harm. I thought I was in danger and my instincts took over.” 

“It is all right,” she decided with a kind smile. “Can you tell us who you are?”

She took a deep breath. “I was sent by the House of Black and White to warn you of an attempt on your life.”

From the instant she woke up and recalled what had happened the night before the assassin knew how this would end. She’d been around enough to know that Queens can hold grudges too. She put a piece of glass to the Queen’s throat and threatened her. Some things are simply unforgivable. She thought of her father again and the justice he’d demand and she suspected this Queen would have something similar in mind. Whatever it was, she didn’t think she’d have to wait long to find out. 

Unconcerned by the prospect of death she thought of something else. It became common knowledge that the Dragon Queen really did have dragons, three of them in fact. Arya had always wanted to see a dragon, long before she became No One. Since it was rumored that the Queen fed those she dislikes to her beloved children, it was possible that she’d get to see a real dragon before she went to meet her God. What a final memory that would be to take with her. 

Waiting there looking up into Daenerys’s eyes the killer -turned-savior felt peace. Death wouldn’t be so bad. Valar Morghulis. As much as she hated to admit it, after her life this was a better end than she likely deserved. 

Having made her peace with her God and her upcoming death she began counting each of her breaths as they left her lungs. “I will give the Gift to Nazir and you will be safe your Grace,” she explained, wheezing in between words as the pain she felt spread. After a violent cough she added. “You must be careful, there will surely be others.” 

Joining her on the bed they sat together as if they were old friends. As she moved the assassin noticed the way the light reflected off her light hair and how even with concern etched on her features the fabled Daenerys Targaryen was just as beautiful as the stories she’d heard. 

Long before today she’d heard of the Dragon Queen’s beauty, her kindness, her compassion. It surprised her that for once every generous word spoken appeared to be true. She was kind, and compassionate and she certainly was beautiful.

Looking at Daenerys and forgetting about the crowd of people watching she addressed the Queen. “May I go see Nazir before I return for my punishment?” she asked, sounding exhausted. “Or I can tell your guard how to find him, if you prefer.”

“Nazir hired you then?” Jorah asked from far away. 

“No the House of Black and White sent me,” she tried to explain for a second time. “Nazir wanted to hire one of us to kill the Queen. I was sent to stop them, kill Nazir and warn the Dragon.” 

“You saved us,” Daenerys said. “Thank you.”

“Valar Dohaeris, your Grace, everybody serves.”

The tent was quiet and even sitting up became a challenge for the killer. Her vision blurred and the numbness spreading throughout her body was growing in both speed and intensity. 

Reluctantly she looked past the beautiful Queen and met the grizzled face of her commander. “To the east of the market, past the smith, there is a slum. On the third floor behind a blue door you will find Nazir. Kill him.” She kept her eyes on Jorah until she saw the former knight nod in understanding. Attempting to move her body she felt a rush of pain and bit down to keep from cursing. From where she was sitting on the edge of the bed Daenerys reached and helped her with a soft hand. Looking down at the hand on her bare arm, and then up into those memorable eyes No One became Arya Stark again for a moment. “I’m ready, your Grace.”

 

Daenerys didn’t understand so she looked behind her for help. Watching with grim expressions no one said anything, so she was forced to look to the woman for clarification. “Ready for what?”

“You can kill me now,” she declared calmly, sounding more lucid than she had in minutes’ past. 

She cursed in Dothraki as the words reached her ears. “W…why would I do such a thing to the woman who saved me?”

“I harmed you, threatened you and you are a Queen.”

“No, no I can’t do that.” Daenerys said, looking again to Jorah for help. “I won’t do that to you, it was a simple mistake, nothing more.”

“I wronged you and you are due justice, take it. I’ve delivered the message, I’ve sent the sell-swords to the Many Faced God and told your knight how to find Nazir. My work is done.”

Daenerys looked from face to face, studying them each in turn. “Ser Jorah.”

He stepped forward blade in hand. With his left hand he touched the Queen’s shoulder gently. “The girl is right, I’ll do it.”

As her adrenaline began to wear off, she knew she didn’t have long. Her words began to slur slightly and she shook, until Daenerys reached out to balance her yet again. “It has to be you,” she whispered to Daenerys, in a haggard voice. “The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

Daenerys’s mind raced as she tried to process the last few minutes. Did the girl really expect she’d kill her, over that stupidity with the glass? It was absurd. 

 

R-C

 

“What did she say to you?” Tyrion asked as they ate together hours later 

Closing her eyes, she did her best to remember, wanting to get the details correct, sensing that they were important somehow. “She said something like, ‘It must be you, and then something about the swinging sword passing judgement.”

Tyrion was quiet for a few minutes, flipping through the pages of the book he was reading, while picking at the food before him. “I’ve got it!” he declared loudly, drawing eyes from all around the room. 

“What is it Lord Tyrion?” she teased, using his full title with an indulgent smile. 

“The girl, she wasn’t saying the sword passed judgement, she was saying ‘The one who passes the judgement should swing the sword.’”

As Tyrion spoke those words Daenerys heard them again in the weak voice of the girl. “What does it mean?”

Tyrion chuckled as he picked at his pheasant. “It means that I was once again, in fact, absolutely right. Whoever the girl is she is definitely of Westeros and definitely of the North. The Old Gods and the Old Ways are still quite common there.”

“That saying is from the North?” she asked, trying to understand the connection that Tyrion insisted was there. 

“The people of the North have many lovely, equally cryptic, sayings, your Grace that is just one of them.” 

“Very well. Do you know where you met her yet?”

“Well your Grace, before crossing the sea I was fairly well known around all of the Seven Kingdoms, even the North. Perhaps this is a case of my reputation proceeding me.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “You told me you travelled to the Wall once, correct?”

“I did,” he said with a wide small as he recalled the sense of power he felt as he pissed off the side. 

“Could you have met her there on your travels?”

“I don’t think so, a face like hers on a woman’s body, I’d remember, but I will keep trying to understand.” He took another long drink from his wine. “Perhaps when she’s awake and not threatening to kill anyone she can just tell us who the hell she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is reading and commenting.


	3. Chapter 3

Daenerys was sitting next to her savior’s bed and watching her sleep. She was a restless creature, moving about almost constantly but she didn’t seem to be in too much discomfort. Daenerys was glad about that. After all the stranger had done for them, for her, the least she could do was ensure her comfort. What started as a visit to check in on her condition grew into an hour long visit, then one became two and before long she was sleeping in a chair with her head resting next to the woman who might die. 

In the middle of the night the wounded warrior woke to a surge of pain and a sudden realization that she was still alive. Apparently the Queen had decided to spare her. In the voice of her first dance instructor she heard the familiar words, words she still said in prayer before she went to work -- ‘There is only one thing to say to the God of Death?’ Her voice cracked, dry and raw from screaming as she answered her private question aloud. “Not today.”

Her weak voice was enough to wake Daenerys who was too worried about the woman to rest deeply. “W…what?” she stammered, lifting her head. Noticing the girl awake she came to her senses quickly. “Are you in pain?” she asked as she stifled a yawn and wiped at the corner of her eye with a thumb. 

“Y… your Grace you should be resting. I’ll be fine.”

Ignoring her words Daenerys reached for the glass of water and held it near to the girl’s mouth so she could take a sip. 

After she had her drink and the glass was once again on the night table they simply looked at one another. The assassin could see the Queen was tired, she had little color to her skin and deep marks under her eyes. In addition, her dress was slightly wrinkled and her hair was unbraided and loose down her back. 

So focused on Daenerys that it wasn’t until she caught the Queen staring for the second time that she realized the problem. Already knowing what she’d find she reached up and touched the face - the nose, the lips, the chin that didn’t belong to her. 

“What is your name?” she wondered. “I am Daenerys Stormborn, the Queen of Meereen and I owe you my thanks for saving my life and the lives of my friends. I can’t possibly do that properly if I don’t know your name.”

Her heavy eyes had fallen closed but at the question they opened, grey, like the sea in a storm. “We don’t have names,” she explained in a weary voice. “We are all No One, we don’t require a name to serve.”

“Well what about before? Did your parents give you a name?”

Rather than lie she pretended she was asleep. 

R-C

 

The days slowly passed and although it was beginning to feel uncomfortable she continued to wear the soldier’s face. She could only imagine how odd it would be to see her with the face of a man and the body of a woman, but so far no one had asked, and for that she was grateful. Since she’d been given her first face she’d been told it was possible to focus the blessing and change her entire body to match her face, but she wasn’t that skilled. Despite many attempts she’d never been able to shift anything below her neck. 

As much as she wanted to wear her own face, she was afraid Tyrion might recognize her. She’d been spared when in madness she threatened the Queen but she doubted she’d receive a second pardon if the Targaryen learned she was a Stark. 

The Queen had been beyond generous, giving up her own servant and allowing Missandei to serve the assassin as she recovered. It had been a long time since she’d been waited on like nobility and it made the woman she had become quite uncomfortable. 

Beyond that she got regular visits from Daenerys, and Kovarro, while the others just nodded politely when they saw her. Only Jorah held contempt for her, while the others seemed largely indifferent. Tyrion was the exception. They spoke rarely but more than once she caught him watching her from a distance, staring or squinting, trying to determine who she was and where he knew her from. Recovering being as boring as it is she took a small measure of entertainment from the growing frustrations that not being able to solve the riddle was causing him. 

When she asked about Nazir she heard that he was gone by the time Grey Worm and the others arrived. Since the Queen seemed disinclined to kill her, and her wounds were no longer grave, all she needed was a few more days to rest and she could hunt Nazir herself and finish the job herself.

In her mind she easily pictured Daenerys, and how furious she’d be if she knew what the killer was planning. The thought made her smile as she drifted off to sleep again. 

 

R-C

 

They sat together in her tent with only the brazier for light. “Tell me about yourself,” the Queen said. It was not a demand or a royal decree just a question among equals. 

She was immediately weary. “Not much to tell your Grace, I am just a woman like any other, nothing special.”

From where she was sitting Daenerys shook her head at the notion that this woman was plain in any sense. “Daenerys,” she corrected gently, with a warm, engaging smile. “Here, away from others, please call me Daenerys,”

“Daenerys,” she parroted the word back, testing it. She noticed as she said it for the first time the Queen’s smile only grew larger. “Ok, well I was just a girl Daenerys.”

“Tyrion suspects you’re from Westeros…” the Queen treaded carefully, afraid to spook the girl. “From the North specifically.” In the privacy of her mind Arya cursed her choice to take a Northern Face from the temple before she left. If she’d taken the face of a man from the South, it’d be easier to hide the truth. 

She laughed humorlessly. “The dwarf is still pretty clever I see,” she retorted without thinking. Only after the words were out did she realize how they would sound and the follow-up questions it would spawn. 

Daenerys’s wide smile grew wider still. “So you do know Tyrion. I was beginning to think that he was torturing himself trying to recall a meeting that never happened.”

“It was along time ago, my Queen. He’d rightly not remember me.” After a hard stare from the Khaleesi she amended her error. “It was a long time ago Daenerys.”

They spoke for hours, long into the night. The Queen forgot about the goings on outside the tent and told stories of her childhood, about meeting the Khal, about her dragons and her plans. For her part the assassin focused on the places she’d been and the things she’d seen in her travels.

“Can I ask about your face?” Daenerys finally asked without preamble. 

“I’ll answer what I can,” she responded cryptically, treading carefully while not wanting to outright refuse. 

“Missandei told me the rumors that your kind can take the face of another, but I wasn’t sure if I believed.” She blushed her pale skin flaring red with Dragon’s blood. “Should I believe?”

“You should.”

There was another pause before Daenerys’s next question slipped out into the darkness. “So that’s not your true face?”

She chuckled, tracing the stubble with her fingers. “No, I assure you my face has much less hair.”

Although she could see only an outline of her figure in the diming light she could hear the smile in the Queen’s voice. “I am certainly happy to hear that,” she joked. “So you wear another face for your work?” 

“Yes,” she explained in a whisper. “Nazir would never have hired a female sell-sword, and the five men who tried to kill you wouldn’t have allowed a woman amongst them, so I was given a face more appropriate for the task.”

“Does it hurt? When you take someone’s face?” For three long seconds there was silence while the Faceless Man tried to decide how to explain, but nearby Daenerys had thought of something and the whispers were replaced by a yell. “Five! Did you say five?”

Addled by pain of her slowly healing wounds, and not by the beauty of the Queen, it took her far longer than normal to understand what the woman was talking about. By the time she did, the silence had stretched on and the Dragon Queen’s eyes were full of fire, her small arms crossed over her chest. 

“Yes, there were five of them, plus myself.”

Her eyes narrowed and her head bobbed before she pinned the assassin in a stare and leaned closer. “I remember only four; the one Kovarro killed, the one you killed to save Kovarro and the two you stabbed at the end. There was a fifth?”

She nodded and felt a tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with her injuries. “I was sent with another sell-sword to block your escape, that’s why I was late arriving,”

In the dark she reached out and took the assassin’s hand, holding it tightly. “Thank you again. It seems I have even more to thank you for than I realized.”

“I need no thanks,” she said without letting go of her hand. Privately she was pleased it was dark as she was certain her cheeks could rival Sansa’s hair. “Those men were vile and even if it were not my purpose, I would have done the same.”

“You’re a hero, regardless of your motives, and that’s how I shall remember you in the years to come.” 

As their talk continued they both stretched it out for as long as they could. Much later they both surrendered to the exhaustion and laid down side by side on the bed. The assassin fell asleep first, in the middle of a story about her favorite sword, a little Needle of a thing. 

R-C

 

On the thirteenth day of her recovery the assassin had had enough. In addition to going stir crazy being cooped up, she was also growing concerned about Nazir. He tried to kill Daenerys once, he’d surely try again, and again until he succeeded. The only way to prevent that would be to find him first and give him the Gift. 

She woke before the sun, struggled against pain and weakness to wash herself and dress without help. While successful she was glad to be alone, embarrassed that she twice needed to stop and rest. 

With limited options she staggered from the camp, unarmed, bloodied and frail. On the docks not far from where she’d first encountered Daenerys she saw a wild dog roaming about, scavenging for food. She recalled another one of Arya’s memories from back when she too was digging for food in the trash. Sitting with her feet dangling off the side of the pier, she closed her eyes and focused on the dog. 

In a blur of light and pain everything shifted, her senses grew more powerful while her eye-line dropped much lower to the ground. To anyone passing by she would appear to be sleeping but in truth she was running inside the body of a dog, using his keen sense of smell to hunt for a slaver.

R-C

Daenerys woke from an uneasy sleep and crept from bed. Although she noticed Darrio lying next to her she didn’t spare him a second glance as she pulled on a silk robe and pushed some hair back behind her ear. 

As had become her secret ritual Daenerys crossed the camp to the tent where the killer who saved her was resting. It was hard work planning the invasion of Westeros and even harder to rule the lands she already held. Before her day could truly begin she had to check on her wounded guest. 

When she was healthy enough Daenerys would broach the subject of the assassin joining her and her army in their journey to Westeros. Perhaps the girl missed her home and wanted desperately to return? The Queen could hope.

She’d long since learned the value of allies but something about this felt different. She felt safe in the scarred woman’s company, not just protected but truly safe. Those feelings shattered like waves against the rocks when she reached the tent and found it empty. 

R-C

With the aid of a very helpful and filthy dog she tracked Nazir to his new home. Hobbled as she was it took nearly two hours for her to go from the docks to the decrepit hole he was hiding in. Along the way she ‘borrowed’ a small curved blade from a merchant who likely wouldn’t miss it. 

Stopping to catch her breath she thought about what she was doing. While she told herself she was simply completing her task, and fulfilling her duty to the Many Faced God, a quiet part of her mind knew it was more than that. Nazir could wait, she could heal and could deliver the Gift to him when she was back in good health but where would that leave Daenerys? Every day she spent resting in bed in that fucking tent was another day Nazir could put together another plot to murder the Queen. And next time he could get lucky, she couldn’t allow that to happen. 

She knocked and did her best to appear surprised when Nazir opened the door, naked from the waist up and in the middle of eating a leg of greasy chicken. 

Still wearing the face of the sell-sword he’d recognize she played up the extent of her injuries. “By the Gods, there you are,” she said reaching across her body and covering the gash on her side, drawing Nazir’s dark eyes to the damage. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Momentarily speechless Nazir almost dropped his dinner before the killer pushed past him into the squalid home. “I thought you were dead.”

Lifting her shirt slightly she allowed her target to see the edge of the bandaged area. She played up the extent of the injuries a bit, but most of her discomfort was real. “Close. Are you alone here? Did any of the others survive? Are they here? Do you have money, or weapons? The Queen is going to be coming for me!” 

The frenzied act was strategy and it worked. Under the surface though her hate grew every second he drew breath. This was the bastard who hired men to murder Daenerys. He wanted her dead and for what? So he could sell humans like cattle without consequence?  
“I’ve got some money hidden,” he told her, finally putting down the food. 

She waited and when Nazir moved to the corner of the room and kicked over a small table she knew it was almost time. With his back to her, he grabbed the corner of the dirty rug and pulled back hard. The killer needed no further invitation. Drawing the stolen weapon, she approached him from behind and pressed the edge to his throat. “W…what is this?”

Leaning down she put her lips directly against his ear. “The Dragon Queen says hello.” The steel moved along with her tongue and by the time the man understood, it was already too late. Looking down at the Many Faced God’s newest arrival she thought of Daenerys and the danger she was in. Nazir wasn’t the only surviving slaver. More would come, if not now then soon. 

A morbid idea came to her standing over the body with his blood on her hands. From where she’d been leaning against the wall she stood straight and with purpose got to work on her self appointed task.

R-C

 

Daenerys was trying her best to remain calm. Dragons don’t panic. Queens don’t panic. Nearby Missandei tried to distract her with idle conversation that she only half heard. 

“Where do you think she is?” she asked her most trusted friend suddenly.

“I am sure she will return Khaleesi.”

Since finding the tent empty she’d dispatched a third of her army to scour the streets of Meereen until she was found and returned safely. The longer the search went on Daenerys didn’t know whether to feel hopeful, or dejected. She was a Queen - how hard could it be to find one girl?

R-C

With her work done the Servant of Death looked down at her blood soaked clothes, and crimson hands and felt satisfaction. People would be less likely to question Daenerys’s rule now. 

She thought about leaving for Braavos immediately but doing so didn’t feel right. Not only had Daenerys had her weapons taken and stored but she felt it appropriate to say goodbye to the woman who had spared her life. 

She snuck back into camp just as she’d left that morning. The blood on her bandages was spreading quickly but she wasn’t concerned. Torn stitches were common place. In hours she’d be on a boat to Braavos and she’d have plenty of time to heal. 

She saw Daenerys pacing, speaking with Missandei, waving her hands in agitation. She approached from the rear and sank to one knee in the mud, bowing her head. “My Queen.”

She spun as if struck by lightning, turning toward the voice. “By the Gods, there you are!” she cried, reaching to grasp her arm, attempting to raise her from the ground. “I’ve been worried sick!” Taking in sight of the blood her worries didn’t decline. 

“I had something I had to take care of,” she said in a low voice. “It was urgent.”

“Urgent!” the Dragon roared. “You nearly died and you think your task was urgent?!”

“Everybody dies your Grace,” she told her simply. “Some tasks are worth courting death.”

Finally managing to get her to her feet Daenerys led the bloody killer into her tent while she sent Missandei to fetch some water. “Is this blood yours?” she asked, concerned as she helped peel off her shirt to get to the flesh underneath. 

“Some,” she admitted, “mostly Nazir.”

Understanding passed over her face. “You risked your life to hunt Nazir down and kill him. He’s just a slaver, you shouldn’t have.”

Stormy grey eyes met violet. “I did my duty and provided the Many Faced God with an offering.”

“It’s done then?” she asked, wondering what would happen now. 

Scratching an itch near her nose she smeared blood on her face with abandon. Eventually she nodded to answer Daenerys’s question. “It is done. Nazir is dead, his sell-swords are dead and you know to be more careful.”

There was a commotion outside the tent just as Missandei returned. “What’s going on?” the Khaleesi asked as she listened to the sound of most of her army rushing in one direction. 

“I’m not sure Khaleesi. Apparently one of the Masters was found murdered,” Missandei informed, passing along what she’d heard through the camp. 

Daenerys’s eyes shifted to the blood-stained assassin. “Really?”

Missandei continued. “It is being said they found one of his limbs in the four corners of the city while his headless body was discovered in the alley where we were attacked.”

“And what of his.. h …his head?” she inquired, her voice breaking slightly before she cleared her throat and tried again. 

“On a pike in the center of the market your Grace, with a message written in blood.”

By now Daenerys wasn’t looking anywhere but into the assassin’s eyes. “What did the message say?”

“’Slavery is a crime punishable by death,’ your Grace.”

Armed with this new information Daenerys took the water and sent Missandei to find the Maester, leaving her and the murderer alone. “You did all this?”

Looking down at her bloody hands she whispered, “A message was needed. Once the Masters hear what happened to Nazir they’ll be less likely to oppose your authority while you are in Westeros.”

“Thank you,” she said honestly. “Seems all I do is thank you for your help.”

A smirk passed over her lips. “Yes, I’m very helpful when I’m not holding pieces of glass to your throat,” she explained, beginning to wash the blood from her colored skin.

“A youthful indiscretion,” Daenerys said with a chuckle. Taking a step closer she took her other hand without permission and got to work cleaning it. “Now that your work is done, you’ll return to Braavos?”

“Yes, I’ll return.”

A smile settled on the Queen’s narrow lips. “You know, you could always…”

Her words were halted by Missandei’s arrival with the Maester. After taking one look at the bloody woman he insisted on giving her a full exam. Daenerys reluctantly released her hand before she excused herself politely.

The Queen waited just outside the tent for twenty minutes while the killer was tended to. Daenerys barely blinked, too terrified to step away for fear she would vanish again before they could finish their conversation. 

Within seconds of the Maester’s exit, she was in the tent, looking at the scarred back. “Are you well?”

“Healthy enough to travel,” she assured her Queen, as she reached for her tattered shirt. 

In a rare moment of nervousness, the Last Dragon felt her cheeks heating up. “Yes, well, perhaps if you are healthy enough to travel to Braavos, you might consider coming to Westeros instead. I know it was your home once…”

Stunned by the suggestion the killer dropped the shirt she was holding only to pick it up and turn around. By the look on her face it was obvious she had never considered joining the voyage to their former homeland. My Queen…” she began formally. 

“Daenerys,” she reminded gently. “Call me Daenerys.”

She nodded and pushed a hand through her choppy, uneven hair. “Yes, Daenerys. I can’t go back, there is nothing left for me there.”

Unwilling to let this moment pass without another attempt she moved closer. “Are you certain? Perhaps…”

“There is nothing left for me there,” she repeated with more force. Bending down she grunted in obvious pain as she reached into her boot, feeling around for something. When she straightened she was holding a worn, iron coin in her hand. She rolled it between her fingers while the Queen watched. “Should you ever find yourself in need, my blade and I will be at your service.” 

Reaching out she took hold of Daenerys’s wrist, skimming her fingers along as if it were the most breakable of glass. When she reached Daenerys’s hand she opened the fingers gently and placed the coin against her palm. 

“What’s this?” she asked in a quiet, raspy voice as the assassin pushed her fingers closed around the gift. 

“Should you need me for any reason, send one of your men to Braavos with this coin. If they show it to anyone there, they’ll find me.”

Daenerys’s grip on the coin tightened as she understood its true value. “Send one of my men?” she repeated with humor. “Do you not think me capable of travelling to Braavos myself?”

The light in her eyes made the killer smile in spite of herself. “You’ll be far too busy ruling the Seven Kingdoms to concern yourself with me, your Grace.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,”’ she whispered. 

 

R-C

 

She postponed her departure for as long as she could and actively tried not think about why she’d do such a thing. Her weapons had been returned to her, she’d thanked Missandei and the Maester for their help and had even been given a gift by Kovarro. With Missandei translating the Dothraki presented her with a beautiful curved dagger, a gift of thanks for saving his life and that of his Khaleesi. 

She was looking down at the weapon, admiring its weight and craftsmanship when Daenerys, fresh from a meeting with Tyrion appeared next to her. “That once belonged to my husband, you know.”

No she hadn’t known. She looked at the blade with new eyes and felt guilty for holding it. It didn’t belong to her. 

She tried to hand it back to the Queen. “Then you should have it.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Daenerys’s hair move as she shook her head. “No,” she decided immediately. “One day, years ago Kovarro saved my life. When we returned the Khal was so relieved he presented his dagger to him as a reward. Now it’s been passed along to you.” 

Unsure of what to say, she kept it simple. “That’s very kind.”

“You earned it,” she countered. “Keep it with you and think of me,” she paused and corrected, “think of us each time you use it.”

She was just about to step away when Daenerys reached out and grabbed her forearm, pulling her back with surprising strength. Neither spoke but the two shared an intense look that said plenty. 

“May I make a final request before you go?”

She tilted her head to the side. “You are a queen,” she reminded her. “Queens don’t make requests.”

“May I see your true face now that your work is done? Just once before you go?”

No One was conflicted. Could she take such a risk? Could she afford to refuse? Looking around she saw Tyrion standing in the midst of a conversation with Barristan and Jorah, a safe distance away. As gently as she could she steered Daenerys into one of the many empty tents. “Are you certain you want to see?”

With a regal nod, she made her decision and the girl who had once been Arya Stark was stuck. Duty to the crown was not debatable, her father had taught her that. Putting her finger against her temple she applied the slightest bit of pressure as she spread her hand out over her face. The sting of the magic as if shifted was intense but not overwhelming. When it was over, her little finger reached up from near her eye to trace the familiar scar that marked her service to her God. With a deep breath she let her hand fall away. “See,” she teased, “much less hair.”

With a stunned expression she swallowed hard and stared openly. “That was most impressive,” she finally confessed. “Does it hurt?”

She felt strangely content being back in her own skin and didn’t feel rushed to end this particular line of questions. “No, not really, it hurts for a moment and then it is done.”

To show she understood Daenerys held her hand out over the flame of a nearby brazier. The assassin watched, unable to dampen her concern even though she was well aware of the rumors about the Targaryen girl and her dragon’s blood. 

Pulling her hand back before the ring she wore could melt to her skin she turned her attention to the assassin. “Thank you for all you’ve done. Will you still not tell me your name?”

“Names aren’t important, deeds are,” she retorted. “If you want to thank me cross the sea, take your throne and be a fair queen.”

“You could come with me,” she offered, trying one final time. 

As memories that didn’t belong to her raced around in her mind she fought to control them. There was a part of her that wanted to go back, to once again become Arya Stark and take the vengeance she was so owed, but she told the truth when she told Daenerys there was nothing for her in Westeros. She could return, kill all the people on her list and more but then what? Return to Winterfell so she could be Lady Stark, Warden of the North? She didn’t want that, she never wanted that. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by a breeze blowing into the tent, sending papers rattling while Daenerys shook. “It’s cold.”

With a smirk she approached the shivering queen. She actually thought the breeze was quite nice, but apparently the Dragon disagreed. Without thinking she reached out, placed her rough, calloused hands on the Queen’s soft shoulders and began rubbing up and down her arms, producing heat in the process. “Winter is Coming.” 

While the assassin warmed her arms, Daenerys’s hand went to her face, tracing the jagged, angry looking scar that started on her temple and passed over the majority of her forehead before disappearing up under her dishevelled hair. She touched the uneven skin and watched as grey eyes widened in surprise and then closed under her attention. 

Loud calls of both Missandei and Tyrion searching for Daenerys brought them both back to reality. She blushed in a way unfit for a Queen, while the assassin stepped back and avoided the intense eyes. “Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said sincerely. “I will forever be grateful.”

With one final bow of her head she showed her allegiance. “Good luck in Westeros, my Queen.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention for the shortest of instants but it was enough. One moment she was looking into the dark eyes of the assassin then she turned away. It was only a second but when Daenerys looked back the girl was gone, nothing in her place but some marks in the sand.


	4. Chapter 4

The Khalasar was nearly a week into their voyage when Daenerys came from her quarters one evening and demanded three of her ships detour to Braavos. 

As with all the Queen’s requests her orders were immediately complied with, but it wasn’t long before a furious Jorah appeared at her side and steered her back into her quarters for a private conversation.

“Khaleesi, dividing our forces is not wise. We need for all our ships to land in Westeros at the same time, to appear as strong as possible.”

“And we will,” she stated with supreme confidence. “Send word that our boats are to wait miles off shore if they reach Westeros before we return. We will gather there and then finish the journey together.”

Frustration evident on his face Jorah lifted his hands in the air and pushed his fingers through his thinning hair. “We are so close Khaleesi! Are you having second thoughts about Westeros, because we can wait, if you wish it.”

Daenerys smiled at him kindly but it didn’t reach her eyes and she was positive he noticed. “My return to Westeros is long overdue. Our detour to Braavos is only about ensuring the army is the most capable it can be.”

Eight long seconds the old soldier stood confused until the moment the pieces came together for him. From across the brightly lit room she could see the light of understanding in his eyes. “The girl, we’re going back to Braavos for the girl?”

From a hidden pocket in her leather top she removed the iron coin and held it up to the knight. “Do you know what this is Ser Jorah?” she asked. 

“It’s a coin,” he answered dismissively before he marched out of her quarters and out onto the deck. She made no attempt to try and stop him. 

That coin, the woman who gave it to her, and what it meant had been all Daenerys could think about for days. As innocently as possible she spoke to all of her commanders one by one, asking for what they knew about this house of assassins that the girl was a part of. 

Daario was the first, she asked him one night as they lay together in bed. For the third night in a row she brushed off any attempt to have sex and focused on his knowledge of the guild of killers. “In the Pits I saw a Faceless Man cut down six fully armoured men as if they were nothing. He started with only a dagger, but within seconds had killed one man and stolen his sword. By the end of the first minute, two were dead and he had a sword and shield. It was the most impressive display of death I’ve ever seen.”

“I’d never seen anything like it either,” Daenerys agreed, thinking back to what she witnessed in the alley. She moved with a gracefulness, so fluid and smooth and yet so deadly. Waiting until the last moment to step aside and then put herself in the perfect position for a counter-strike.

Grey Worm, and Barristan were the same, speaking only of the Faceless Men’s exploits in combat and not about the order itself. Aware of Jorah’s dislike of the woman Daenerys skipped his biased opinion and went right to Tyrion. He explained to her in graphic detail how before she was the Breaker of Chains, the House of Black and White had been killing slavers and freeing slaves for decades. He also connected their activities to the will and wishes of the Iron Bank. 

“So if I don’t repay my debts?” she wondered. 

Tyrion tilted his glass in jest. “Then my Queen they will hire a Faceless Man to assassinate you or they’ll begin funding your enemies until you have no choice but to bend the knee and repay the debt, with interest.” 

The more she learned the more fascinated Daenerys became. She’d once lived in Braavos and knew of the House of Death, just as every Braavosi did but she hadn’t realized how deep the roots ran, how structured and purposeful their actions. With each passing minute she had more questions for the killer in a girl’s body. The thought that she might not see the girl again knotted her stomach. 

In the end it was Missandei who had the most information to share. As she assisted Daenerys in the bath they spoke of the house. “So you know of it?”

“All slaves know of the Faceless Men Khaleesi. They were started by escaped slaves. It is rumored that the first contracts they took were on their old Masters. In the years since they’ve killed plenty, all kinds, for all reasons but they have a dislike for the Masters and help slaves escape when they can.” 

More hot water was added to the bath and Daenerys pushed further. “Do you know anymore?”

Missandei nodded. “I know they are expensive and secretive. It is rumored only three out of every ten survive the training and get the scar.”

“The scar,” she repeated, remembering the feel of it under her finger. 

“Magic Khaleesi. They say they can give a man a new face at will,” she explained, repeating what she’d told Daenerys the first time they spoke on the subject.

“That is definitely true,” Daenerys confirmed. When Missandei stopped washing and looked at her with questions in her eyes the Queen relented. “Before she left she removed the man’s face and showed me the real one underneath.”

“Truly!?” Missandei asked, awestruck. 

Daenerys smiled in confirmation and the two girls laughed together quietly as Missandei got back to work. “Do you know what the coin means?”

“The coin?”

 

Across the room, resting on top of her clothing on the bed was the coin the assassin had given her, the one she hadn’t let out of her sight since the moment it was placed in her hand. Holding a wet arm out of the tub she pointed. “She gave me an iron coin before she left.”

Before Daenerys had even finished the servant was off her knees and standing over the bed, looking for and then finding the coin. She carried it back to the tub and passed her thumb over its carvings. “She gave you this?” Missandei clarified. 

 

“Yes, said I could get help if I ever needed it.”

“Khaleesi the Faceless Men believe in two principles above all others – Valar Dohaeris – every man serves and Valar Morghulis – every man dies. When a favor or debt is owed by a member of the order it is said they distribute coins like this. If you take this coin to them it is said that anything you can ask for, is provided.”

Daenerys was captivated, listening and trying to determine how the new information fit into the mysterious history of her friend. “So I just show up with this coin and they’ll give me anything?” she asked, skeptically. 

“Yes Khaleesi. I heard of a slave once who aided a member of the order and was gifted a coin in return. He used it to purchase his freedom.”

“How?”

Missandei gave her a grim look as she dried her hands. “The assassin snuck into the house one night and slaughtered everyone except the slave who hired him, and together they travelled back to Braavos.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Most people trade them for services, should they ever require them.”

Although she tried to remain expressionless, secretly the Queen could see the benefit of having an assassin owe her a favor or two. She vowed to hold the coin even tighter now.   
R-C

 

She told herself it was because she was bored, cooped up in a hammock in the cargo hold of a sinfully slow merchant vessel. The long trip left her plenty of time to think, to heal and to plan. The first few days she slept more than she woke but as time progressed she began to regain her energy. Her reasons rang hollow in her mind, because she knew the truth. No small part of her was doing this because she wanted to check on Daenerys. 

Closing her eyes and having her eyes roll back in her head she sought out an animal, any animal that could provide her the information she needed. She needed to focus, trying to bond with animals so far away. Each time she tried it was a test of wills, hers versus the animals and each time she won, but it was never easy, not like bonding with Nymeria. Thoughts of her wolf had her smiling in spite of her pain and in spite of her concern. 

In the skin of a cat she hurried along the dock and all around the bay, confirming that the camp was gone and the boats had left. Through the cat’s eyes she did notice that a garrison of Daenerys’s troops had been left to maintain order in the city. 

Hours later she was in the skin of a raven as she attempted to master the art of flying. It was immensely freeing, even unmoved, underground in the belly of the ship, she felt remarkably free, the wind in her face, the clouds blurring past, the strength in her wings as she’d flap and then glide, then flap, flap, flap and glide. From the air, finding the fleet wasn’t nearly as difficult as she predicted it would be. What confused her was the fact Daenerys’s boats were going in two directions. 

After a few laps, flying low enough to see onto the deck of each ship she located the one that mattered, the one with Daenerys. Surprisingly she didn’t appear to be one of the boats heading for Westeros. After waiting so long, her actions didn’t make sense. She wanted to ask, and even tried but realized too late that her voice, the bird’s voice would be insufficient for that conversation. She flew the bird around the boat for the remainder of the day, watching for any signs of danger. 

After returning to her own body she was amazed by how tired she felt, and how taxing it was to bond with the animals. As she yawned with increased pain in her tense muscles it was entirely worthwhile. She’d accomplished her task, and verified that Daenerys was safe. Taking a measure of relief, she dozed off to a peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

 

R-C

 

The first time it happened she thought it was her imagination, a state halfway between awake and asleep. How else could she explain a bird sitting on the desk in her quarters, having flown in through the tiny square window after she was already asleep. More than a few times she blinked in the darkness, expecting the illusion to disappear but it never did and the bird remained. It didn’t seem real, seeing a bird so still, so quiet, not moving in aggressively or flying away in fear. Just watching. 

 

R-C

 

Just hours from passing under the Titan she sat in her tiny room reaching out for any beasts in Daenerys’s general area. She was surprised to find that the task of linking up with animals was becoming easier, even as she put more distance between them. 

At first she believed all was well, just as it had been every time she checked for the past month. She flew in a bird’s body over the boat, swooping down close enough to get a look at Daenerys’s smiling face as she joked with Missandei and Tyrion and then she’d back up in the clouds. 

It was nearly midnight, the night was cloudy, nothing but darkness out on the water. All day she’d been on edge, worrying about the Queen. A moonless night, out on the ocean with only two additional boats to protect her. That was the sort of ideal situation a Faceless Man might capitalize on, if he or she were looking to sink one of the ships, or all three. 

From the moment she found a bird to use she hadn’t returned to herself once. As dawn approached she began to think she’d gotten worried for nothing, until she saw the two small rowboats moving quick and low, unseen in the water, and heading straight for the Queen’s vessel. 

Taking the bird down she flew in through the Queen’s window, noticing that Daenerys continued to leave it open, even after she caught the bird sitting on her desk once before. Daenerys was asleep, wrapped in a silk sheet that was tucked around her waist loosely. Beside her, lying on his side, facing away from her Daario was entirely naked and clearly having a pleasant dream. 

Her last desire would be to scare the Queen, but she didn’t see another way. The choices for animals were limited, unless she really wanted to take a swim. Taking a deep breath to fill her lungs she let out a massive screech that echoed around the cabin. As soon as she saw Daenerys’s eyes opening the bird was out the window and screeching constantly to try and awaken the others. 

Daenerys, wearing a silver silk robe that was barely tied appeared on the deck, looking confused. Unlike everyone around her, she wasn’t looking to the water, but the sky. 

The bird landed on a railing just feet from where the Queen was standing. She approached slowly, so not to spook her, while nearby Grey Worm and Jorah were commanding their men and ringing a large bell to ensure everyone on all three ships was aware of the danger. 

All of Daenerys’s attention was on the bird which flew onto her outstretched arm, stayed for a moment and flew off. Halfway to the boats bow the bird looked back at her in a very human gesture, checking to see if she was following. She was. 

When they arrived at the end of the boat the bird sat on the edge with Daenerys in front as they looked out at the water together. Daenerys couldn’t see anything. With another cry the bird left the railing and flew down toward the water. Instinctively the short Queen propped herself up on her bare toes and peeked over the side, checking where the bird had gone. As she looked down she saw two more small boats rowing closer in the distance. 

In her loudest voice Daenerys called for her troops. By the time the two boats of additional attackers were in range her archers were loosing flaming arrows in an attempt to sink the boats. 

Both Barristan and Jorah urged her into her quarters but Daenerys Targaryen didn’t hide. She refused to even consider such a thing when men and women were willing to fight and die for her. She stood on the center of the deck with Missandei at her side. The two women held hands as they watched. One boat was close enough to begin to board, while the other, damaged by arrows sank off to the right.

Grey Worm was the first to draw his blade with Darrio next to him. Together they fought the pirates or assassins or whoever they were. From where they watched Missandei squeezed Daenerys’s hand each time Grey Worm took a blow, holding her breath one moment and letting it out in a rush the next. Doing what she could to comfort her friend Daenerys tried to be supportive. It occurred to her that although she cared for Darrio she felt none of the overwhelming concern Missandei was suffering. In that moment, amidst the chaos of combat she decided to send Darrio back to Meereen. He’d be happier there. She’d make the arrangements as soon as they made landfall in Braavos.

“Inside the cabin Khaleesi please, and don’t come out.” 

“No, I’ll stay!” she said with passion. “Hand me a weapon Ser Jorah.” 

R-C

Dread filled the instrument of death that used to be Arya Stark. The thought of the tiny queen using a sword in battle was terrifying. The bird she was bonded with provided amazing clarity to watch but little in the way of offensive weapons. 

Cursing in a way that would make a sailor from Volantis blush she focused her mind and tried to find another nearby animal, any animal. No shortage of fish of course, birds too, but none strong enough to be of use. At the last moment she felt the dog, in the third boat, being held by its owner. Looking at the dog through the bird’s eyes she could see it was a war hound, bred for battle, and exactly what she needed. 

The transfer felt awkward and took some getting used to as she traded in the wings for four furry legs. To start with she turned her head and looked around the boat. Only she and her owner were still aboard the small rowboat. Just one man responsible for holding the ladder when they climbed back down afterward. One man who brought his favorite mutt along with him. All the others were aboard, attempting to harm the Queen. 

Motivated to aid Daenerys the dog turned her head and without warning snapped at her owner, biting his hand viciously as she snarled. Her teeth pushed through the skin easily and she could taste the blood. All at once the boredom she felt being cooped up, the annoyance she felt being injured all melted away and she could just be who she was, what she was. 

While the screaming man tended to his wound the dog ran up the make shift ladder and hopped over the side of the higher boat, landing on the deck just feet from the Queen. 

Darrio spotted the dog and took a swing at it with his angled blade but the dog was quick and she darted between his legs before he could make a second attempt. 

If she wanted to stay alive she’d need to prove to Daenerys and the others that she was on their side. The dog snarled as he looked around at the fighting men. Daario was fighting several, Grey Worm was fighting another while protecting the women and Jorah and Barristan each had an ongoing battle of their own. A handful of Unsullied still attempted to sink the second boat with arrows even though only one man remained on it, holding the ladder. 

One man who had hung back for the majority of the fighting held a clean sword and swerved through the crowds, avoiding contact with anybody, regardless of allegiance. When he saw the man coming Jorah kicked his opponent so he could put himself between the Queen and her killer. He fought well until the second man returned and he was outnumbered. 

The dog charged from across the boat and leapt, opening her wide mouth in mid air and clamping down on his sword hand as the force of the collision sent the man tumbling back. 

The dog landed on top and while he reached for another weapon to fight off the beast, she settled her mouth over his neck and bit down, tearing through the vital tissue with ease. 

Powerful ears made it possible for the dog to hear the man’s gurgled breath as he choked on his own blood. She could hear his final wet cough, as death claimed him but it was already behind her as she took off toward Daenerys. 

The clash steel held her focus and she saw Daenerys going up against a sell-sword to protect Missandei and herself. Her opponent was a trained soldier, she could see it in his walk, how he held himself. He wore leather armor, far from expensive but not cheap either. His sword, a beautiful Claymore, made from castle-forged steel. It was worth more than most sell-swords made in a year, which meant this man either stole it, or he had a patron. 

Through the dog’s eyes she watched as the tiny queen barely got the blade up in time to block the first strike. The second she dodged with ease, displaying a smug smirk as she avoided the blow, but it left her open for a counter and skilled warriors didn’t miss such opportunities. 

From miles away she pushed the dog to move faster, and leapt but she was too slow, and arrived too late. The blade came down quick, a flash of silver that bit into Daenerys’s arm just above her elbow and tore its way down. Just as he’d done before the fighter dealt with Jorah before sending him back to his own fight and continuing onto Daenerys alone. He attempted the same move that had worked earlier, but this time Daenerys knew better. She dodged the attack, and did so in a way that didn’t leave her exposed. She deflected what would have been a death blow but tumbled back onto her ass in her robe, dropping the sword in the process, sending it skidding across the planks. 

She pushed the dog faster now, knowing if she was too late she’d never forgive herself. She watched Daenerys fall backward and sent the dog for her prey. The blade came back as the dog jumped. Her claws sunk into his back and her teeth clamped on his shoulder. From personal experience she knew how hard it was to hold a sword when your shoulder was bleeding. 

Her attack served its purpose as the assassin moved away from Daenerys to battle the beast. It was a short dance, one in which even as she won, the girl in the animal’s body lost. Just before she sunk her sharp teeth into the flesh of the sell-sword’s throat a sword ran her through. Howling in pain she bit down anyway, determined to finish the job. 

The link between the animal and her passenger faded when the dog began to die, but while she couldn’t move she could still hear. 

Daenerys was kneeling down next to an injured Missandei. “Are you hurt?”

With Daenerys’s help she stood. “I am fine your Grace, I just tripped when I saw the dog.”

Together they looked over at the dying hound. “Oh my, you’re bleeding Khaleesi.”

She shook her head and applied pressure to the long thin line on her arm. “I’m fine, tend to the other wounded first please.”

“Of course your Grace.”

As she left Jorah arrived. “Pirates Khaleesi, looking to claim the price on your head no doubt. There will be more if people learn you are travelling with such little protection. Shall we change course and meet up with the rest of the fleet?”

Through the dog’s dimming eyes, she saw Daenerys’s expression and she was enraged. “We will continue on to Braavos as I planned. We are only three days away.” With her wishes known she walked past Jorah but stopped when their shoulders brushed. “I do not want to have this conversation with you again,” she informed him bluntly before she carried on. 

The dog’s death broke the connection and the battle had scared the birds off, so No One was forced back to her own skin for now, but she had learned plenty. First and most important, Daenerys’s injury was minor and she would heal quickly. Equally interesting to the assassin was the information that Daenerys separated from her fleet to travel to Braavos. 

She refused to consider why she might make such a change, even after she’d stepped off the boat and made the long journey to the House of Black and White in the early morning sunlight. 

R-C

 

She was met just inside the door by her mentor. “Hello girl.” He immediately took note of her injuries and ushered her inside, down to the basement where the Maester’s took people to, or brought them back from, the brink of death. 

“What happened?” Jaqen asked as her injuries were assessed. 

Without shame she stripped naked and allowed herself to be poked and prodded. Arya Stark would have been mortified by such treatment but No One was used to it. 

“I found Nazir but he’d already hired sell-swords to kill the Targaryen. I joined them and killed them, but not before they did some damage,” she explained, gesturing to her wounds. Wincing in pain she continued without delay. “The Dragon Queen took me to her camp to heal, payment she claimed for saving her life. I passed along the message as I was instructed and I spoke with her guards about improving her security,”

Jaqen looked pleased. If she didn’t know him so well she would miss it, the tiny shift in his jaw, the flattening of some lines along his brow and a little more color in his eyes. “And what of Nazir, the pig who started all this?”

Swallowing past the lump in her throat she tried to rehydrate her dry mouth but failed. ‘N… Na… Nazir was given the Gift and his body put on display to discourage others.”

“Very clever,” he told her with a wink. “Did you meet with the exiled Targaryen?”

Strangely she felt bad discussing Daenerys as if she were just another target. “Yes, we spoke.”

Unpleased with her response he gave her a stern look and folded his arms. “And? What is she like? Is she as mad as her father or as entitled as her brother? What of the people around her? Can her army truly take and hold Westeros or is she doomed to fail?”

For the first time she understood the purpose of the mission she’d been sent on. It hadn’t been about killing Nazir or his sell-swords and about warning Daenerys, it was really about this. Jaqen wanted an excuse to meet with the Dragon so he took advantage of the situation and sent her to gather the information unknowingly. 

Hiding her emotions as she’d been taught she spoke clinically, getting straight to the point. “Her army is strong and varied. I don’t think the armies of Westeros will be prepared for what she brings to their shores.”

“What does she bring?”

“In addition to three dragons that adore their mother and breathe fire, she has Unsullied, the Second Sons, exiled Westerosi knights and Dothraki clans, all with unwavering loyalty to their Queen.”

“What of her mental state?”

“From what I saw the Queen was honorable and fair. More than once in my presence I saw her do something to improve the lives of her people, for no other reason than because she could. I think Westeros would be lucky to have such a Queen.”

With a nod the conversation was over. “Get some rest. You have done well but you must heal. There are still many people who require the Gift.”

“I will be ready the next time the Many Faced God calls upon me,” she declares.

 

R-C

 

Walking up the steps in front of the House of Black and White, she passed a young boy, no more than ten summers, sweeping the stairs. Daenerys smiled at him kindly as she climbed with Jorah on her left and Darrio on her right. In addition, six of Grey Worm’s finest soldiers were standing guard on the street. 

The Queen was uncharacteristically nervous as she approached the heavy looking doors. More than once as she was being dressed she inquired about what Missandei thought of the dress, a silky blue garment that clung to her like a second skin. Likewise, she opted to wear her hair in a more elaborate and formal way than was typical. And despite all that she couldn’t keep her eyes off the white bandage on her arm, covering the injury she sustained on the ship. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by the doors opening before she had even knocked. As soon as the doors were open the boy sweeping the steps rushed inside, never once looking at the man in the doorway or backward at the guests. 

Swallowing down her anxious energy she spoke in a clear voice from two steps below the older man. “Good afternoon.”

“Good day.”

“Ser, I was wondering if I may speak with a member of your house. My name is…”

The old man chuckled. “Worry not Daenerys Targaryen, we at the House of Black and White know exactly who you are.”

For a moment they sized one another up, Daenerys in her silks and bandages and him in trousers and a shirt, both darkened by sweat as if he’d been training. In his sixtieth year at least, she had no doubt he could slaughter them all with ease. Oddly that thought didn’t make her doubt her intentions. 

“First,” she said, still speaking from below him. “I wish to thank you for the aid you sent me.” For a moment she thought of the girl she had come to see. “Myself and many of those I hold dear are still alive only because of your woman’s intervention.”

“Valar Dohaeris, your Grace. We all must serve. What you’ve done to free the slaves and correct a wrong done to so many for so long, is honorable and important. When our house received a request for a contract on your life, we turned the offer down. Word of your growing army had reached Braavos and we thought you’d surely be safe against typical sell-swords,” the man explained, using a hand to wave to each side of her, where her armed guards stood. “Still, it haunted me, the thought that Nazir or others like him might try and do you harm, and might get lucky because you were ill-prepared. It didn’t sit right with me, so I dispatched the girl to make sure you were aware of the increased risk.” Every word was said with the same even tone, the same kindly attitude and friendly expressions. 

“I was most impressed by how skilled the girl was. In fact, I’d like to see her, if possible.”

The man’s kind smile vanished and he crossed his arms over his muscular looking chest. “Nobody goes into the temple, your Grace, not even a Queen. Only those accepting the Gift are permitted through the doors, unless…”

With an almost smug smile she reached for the coin she’d been carrying with her nearly every moment since it was handed to her. To pass the time on the ship she’d taken to moving it around from finger to finger, just as she’d seen the assassin do. She was still learning, but getting better. 

Using more flourish than was technically necessary she passed the coin to the elderly man. “Unless I have one of these?”

He looked down at the coin and knew who it belonged to immediately. The markings she’d made were distinctive and memorable. What surprised him most was that she’d given the coin to anyone at all. In her years of training and after she’d never once passed out a coin to anyone, until now. It made him question what exactly happened in Meereen. 

 

“Of course you’re right. You are welcome inside but I’m afraid the coin is for you alone so your associates will have to wait here.”

The old man looked at the faces, specifically those of the Dragon’s knights. Neither looked keen on the idea of her going in alone. Without a word he turned and went back inside, leaving the white door open, while the black swung closed. 

“Khaleesi, please I beg you to use reason,” Jorah implored. “These people are just highly skilled murderers, nothing more. You must be careful. They have their own agenda, their own motives.”

“It is just a meeting Ser Jorah. I wish to speak to the woman who saved us again, that is all.”

“Once you are inside, you’ll be in danger. You can’t go alone.”

She smiled at her worried commander. “The House of Black and White has gone to considerable lengths to keep me alive. I imagine if they truly wanted me dead I’d be dead by now. Stay here with the others and I’ll be back.”

Little else was said before Daenerys climbed the stairs again and went straight through the open door. Inside it was brighter than she expected it to be. Beautiful murals covered the walls and in the center of the room was an elaborate fountain. Two people sat on the floor in silence, waiting for the cup to end their suffering. 

The man she’d spoken to on the steps came from her right side. He led her down a winding hallway and then another and finally to a long flight of silver steps they walked up slowly. At the top she found herself on a platform overlooking the training field. 

Within seconds her eyes found the one she could recognize. Even from a distance she could see that the girl was favoring her injury. Still the way she moved was almost poetic. 

As they watched Daenerys’s eyes shifted away from the girl to the others. Not surprisingly most were men and all were very impressive. No matter how impressive though, her eyes would undoubtedly find their way back to the injured girl who still appeared to be just as deadly as the Queen remembered. 

“As you can see your Grace, the girl may not be ready quite yet, but we have plenty of others should you need the Gift given.”

They continued walking and ended up in an office. They sat together, drank tea and made small talk. “The girl did well for you?” he asked when it was time to talk in earnest. 

“She saved my life and the lives of those dearest to me. I will forever be grateful to her for her aid, and to you for sending her.”

“Here in Braavos we hear many things. We heard about danger to the Breaker of Chains and felt it would be wrong to do nothing.”

With a gentle nod she took a sip of her tea. “As I said I am truly grateful.”

The man, who had yet to return her coin, held it out between them. “You wish something, what is it?”

Daenerys squared her shoulders and spoke like the last dragon she was, like the Khaleesi she was, the Queen. “After seeing her fight, I realized how much having one so talented in our ranks would help. As you are undoubtedly aware we are travelling to Westeros and I am worried about the time at sea. My soldiers are men of action and I fear they’ll need action while on the water. I came here to Braavos to see if I could hire a trainer for my troops.”

The old man said nothing as he listened to her explanation. “A wise observation Queen. You certainly live up to your reputation. I find the resources spent ensuring your safety were well worth it.”

“How much would it cost? To hire one of your people to train my army during the voyage?”

He lifted his hand and brought her attention back to the coin. “Was the purpose of this coin not explained to you?” he asked, with a slight, disapproving shake of his head.

She thought back to what the scarred woman had said. “I was told that if I ever needed anything, I could come here, show the coin and get help,” she summarized. 

“Yes, and you need help, so you shall have it, at no charge.”

The concept felt a little too much like slavery to Daenerys and she began to panic. After a few deep breathes she steeled herself and laid down the law, her law. “No, no I’m sorry but that just won’t do.”

Visible confused, he looked at her like she was an invalid. “Is there a problem your Grace?”

“I will not force anyone to join me who doesn’t wish to. Anyone who does join me shall be paid far more than one coin, regardless of the role they play or how they came to be with me.” There was a quiet while he simply waited to see what else Daenerys had to say. “So how much would it cost to hire one?” she asked, getting back to her original question. 

The room was quiet for a full minute as decisions were made on both sides. “It won’t be cheap,” he told her bluntly. “The Faceless Men are the best trained fighters in all the known world and for one to teach you would be a great and expensive honor.”

Daenerys gave him a smirk and stepped a little bit closer. Lifting up onto her toes to appear taller, she shook her head gently. “I don’t have a problem with expensive,” she assured him. 

For more than thirty minutes they bartered on a price and in the end, they both walked away happy. Daenerys would have a Faceless Man for her army as she wanted, and the House of Black and White would receive payment for each month the Faceless Man was in her service. Just as he warned the fee was outlandish but Daenerys didn’t mind. It would be well-worth it. 

They were back on the ledge overlooking the training grounds when he said, “Normally it’s the one who presents the coin must honor the request, but given how well she did in aiding you in Meereen and the extent of her injuries, I’ll be willing to let you have your pick of any of the others in her place.”

She gave him her fakest smile and looked down at the girl in question. It had been more than an hour and she was still working away, dancing around in her graceful way, killing with all manner of weapon be it swords and daggers to household items put to deadly purpose. 

“That’s very kind of you to offer but I’d like to hire the girl,” she said confidently. “The same one who saved my life before.”

“She’s damaged, the fee…”

“Can stay the same,” she assured him. “Now may I please speak with her so we may iron out the details?”

The man nodded, clearly pleased with how things progressed. He threw the coin in the air and caught it with a flash of his hand that Daenerys could barely see. “Since you insist on paying for your service, I suppose you can have this back.” Once Daenerys was holding the coin again he looked at her over his shoulder. “May I ask a question your Grace?”

“Certainly,” she replied immediately, not waiting to ruin their bargain.

He nodded to the hand with the coin in it. “How did you earn that?”

“Excuse me?” she replied, not understanding. 

From his pants he removed a coin of his own, marked in a visibly different way, and showed it to her. “We all have them. Our custom is to share our coin with only the most deserving. Many go their whole lives and never use their coin. Usually a person has to save someone from meeting the Many Faced God in order to receive such a gift. Others are given to those who show extreme promise in the art of death. Knowing it was she who saved you has me wondering, what did you do?”

The words were ringing in Daenerys’s ears. She walked past the man as confidently as she could, silent as though he hadn’t spoken or she hadn’t heard him. Privately though she was warring with this new information. The question bounced around in her mind – What did she do for that coin? Nothing! She just handed it over before she left. If it’s as special as the old man says then it had to be meaningful, but what it meant she had no clue. 

 

R-C

 

Each step required a wince of pain as she hobbled toward her bed after a full day of training. The warm heat against her side announced that she’d torn her stitches again, as was fast becoming habit. She had nearly reached her destination where a needle and thread waited. A wicked grin lit up her stoic face. Sansa would be so proud to see her putting all those hours of sewing practice to good use.

“Valar Dohaeris, girl.”

She paused and listened, pushing back the pain and giving her surroundings her focus. She could hear the footsteps approaching from behind. “Valar Morghulis.”

“Are you healing well?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, aware the growing red stain on her tunic stole creditability from her argument. 

“Good, because the Many Faced God requires the services of his favorite student.”

She turned to face him, feeling more alert than she had in days. “Where can I be of service?”

With a smile that was too kind, too paternal he answered before his mouth. “Seems fate feels you’ve been away from home for too long.”

“Home?”

He chuckled darkly. “Perhaps Winter is Coming after all, yes?” He didn’t wait for an answer just nodded to the door. “Pack your things, your guest is waiting.”

“My guest?” Her words were wasted because he was already gone. 

 

R-C

 

After gathering her few belongings in a single bag she met Jaqen in the most sacred room in their temple. With a look she couldn’t comprehend he complimented her and instructed her to take two faces, one male and one female on her journey. Before she left her mentor stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “The girl must keep practicing,” he told her truthfully. “With more practice the girl will be able to have more than just the face of a man.”

He stood facing the collection of faces and she stood in the hallway looking in on him. She adjusted her bag over her uninjured shoulder. “Be well, Jaqen.”

“Take care girl.”

 

R-C

 

Patience was not a virtue Daenerys Targaryen was gifted with. She felt anxious as the fire was lit that hatched her dragons, she was anxious when she and Barrister waited for her commanders to sack the city, but that all felt like a preamble to how she felt now. She was overrun with anxiety and desperate to hide it, standing there next to the famous fountain of death. 

The longer it went on the more uncomfortable she became. She resisted the urge to pace, but only barely. Was there a problem? Was the girl hurt? Did she not wish to join Daenerys?

When a nearby door could be heard opening the Queen turned in that direction and held her breath as she waited. The confident, even strides stopped abruptly as she rounded the final corner. “Daenerys,” she whispered in a voice so quiet that it could barely be heard over the rushing water.

R-C

 

The assassin was out of her depth and she knew it. Hand her something steel and point her at an enemy, that was something she understood, that was something she was capable of. This, was not. It occurred to her in some dark corner of her mind that Sansa would surely know what to say and do in such a moment, but all the younger girl could do was stare. Somehow the Dragon Queen had gotten more beautiful during her absence. 

She remembered hearing that the Queen intended to sail for Braavos but she hadn’t allowed herself to believe the reason was her. That seemed highly unlikely at best and absurd at worst. 

Finally breaking the spell, she closed the space between them. “My Queen…”

For a time, they just looked at one another as if it had been years and not weeks since they were last together. In the process grey eyes took note of the wrapped area of her arm. Remembering the attack on the ship, she was overcome with guilt. Guilt that she wasn’t there, guilt that she hadn’t done more, that she wasn’t faster. She took Daenerys’s hand and guided her into a quiet alcove where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Your arm,” she complained as she touched the bandage gingerly. “I’m so sorry your Grace. I tried to reach you in time but I couldn’t, the stupid dog…” As she spoke her fingers passed over the bandage, tugging at the corner so she could see the damaged flesh underneath. 

Realizing what she was saying she stopped but the damage was done. One look into the eyes of the Targaryen and it was obvious she had heard enough. “How could you possible know of th…”

Afraid of the coming conversation she pulled Daenerys deeper into the shadow of the corner and lowered her quiet voice even further. “Apologies your Grace, but may we talk about this later perhaps, in private?”

With emphasis on the final two words she hoped Daenerys would grant her this small mercy. In her years in Braavos she had never shared her ability to warg with anyone, not even Jaqen and she had no desire to start now. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they learned what she was capable of. 

“Of course,” Daenerys relented. “What of your injury?” she asked, looking with concern at the bloody stain. 

“I am healing quickly,” she exaggerated. “Your arm appears to be on the path to recovery as well, just ensure you keep it dry.”

Daenerys nodded and offered a quiet thanks before she remembered the reason for her visit. “I have come…”

That was all she needed to hear. “How can I be of service?”

“Come with me to Westeros.”

She bowed her head and looked at the marble floor between them. “I would your Grace…”

This time it was Daenerys who had heard enough. “As I told you before, my name is Daenerys.”

“Daenerys,” she tried again. “I would love to join you, and I wish you nothing but success in King’s Landing but my place is here.”

Undeterred the Queen pushed harder. “I want you to join me as I cross the Sea and retake my home. I’ve spoken of it already with…” she wasn’t sure what to call him since no names were given. With a grumbled sigh she continued on, certain the killer would understand. “He is allowing for you to join me temporarily.”

The slate-colored eyes darkened and her hands, resting loose at her sides balled into fists. “You came here to purchase me?”

Daenerys was horrified by the assumption. “Of course not!” she said quickly and far too loudly for the quiet temple. “I came to ask you to join me. Your friend there said I didn’t need to ask only trade my coin, I refused.”

“Refused?”

“I will not take anyone into my service against their will, regardless of my wishes. I struck a bargain with the House of Black and White. If you join me, I will pay wages to not only this house, but also to you, just as I do every other soldier in my army.”

“You’ve hired me then?” she asked, opening her hands. 

“Only if you wish it,” she insisted. “You did so much for me already, I do not wish to burden you.”

The laugh was dark and bitter. “But you’ve come here.”

The blush warmed her face and Daenerys acknowledged that only one person seemed capable of making her body respond that way. “I came to see you and to offer you the opportunity to join me. If you do not wish it, I will go and leave you with my thanks for your time.”

“I’m injured, certainly you’d rather a different…”

“It is you I want,” she said confidently, leaning close to the taller girl. “It was you who saved me, you I saw fight, you I want to teach my troops.”

The thought of returning to Westeros turned her stomach, while exciting her in a morbid way. Hearing that Daenerys would only accept her made her uncomfortable. If she said no and stayed in Braavos the Queen would be less-protected in Westeros and she knew as well as anyone just how dangerous King’s Landing could be. If she went she’d be forced to face the past she’d locked away so long ago. She had no idea how many of her family still lived. Was there even a living Stark at Winterfell?

Her internal debate must have stretched on too long because Daenerys broke the silence. “I see it was an error to come here. I meant to cause you no discomfort. If you are happy here,” she said, looking around, “then you should stay.”

Reaching out her hand landed on the warm skin of Daenerys’s forearm before it slid down toward her open hand. “And if I’m not happy here?”

Daenerys smiled, sensing victory. “In that case, take my hand and let’s go home.”


	5. Chapter 5

Outside the temple, the Queen’s most loyal were waiting for them. Daenerys was still holding her assassin’s hand as they descended. “Now all you need is a name.”

Ser Jorah arrived, sparing her from having to answer. “The girl is coming along?” he inquired, his tone alone making it clear how he felt on the subject. 

“She is,” Daenerys answered confidently. “It will be a long voyage and she can teach our troops a lot while we travel.”

“We don’t even know who she is,” he reminded her harshly. “She doesn’t have a name, she’s a mystery.”

Daenerys remained unbothered by Jorah’s concerns. Turning to the assassin she squeezed her hand. “You do need a name, if not the name you were birthed with, then another of your choosing, any you wish.”

She didn’t know how to answer. She wanted to tell the truth, to declare herself Arya Stark again, no longer No One, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know how Daenerys felt about her family and upon hearing her name the dwarf would surely put two and two together. 

“You see Khaleesi, it’s not safe.”

“No name?” she joked. “All right then, how about a letter, the first letter of your name, let’s start there.”

That she could do. “A, your Grace.”

“A, very well then. Ser Jorah, this is A and she will be accompanying us to Westeros.”

 

R-C

The ship was speeding as fast as it was able, racing to meet up with the rest of the fleet on route to Westeros. The newly named A was sitting at a table on the deck, looking at the stars without purpose until she heard the shuffled footsteps that could only belong to one man. “Dwarf,” she said without looking away from the sky. 

“Killer,” he countered with a grin. Sitting next to her he raised a bottle of Dornish wine from its hiding spot along with two glasses. He filled his first and then hers. “I hear we are to call you A,” he commented, attempting to appear casual. 

She nodded. “At least until you remember our last encounter, then you’ll know my true name.”

Slowly the little man’s eyes moved over her face and down her body. Last time he’d seen her she had the face of a man. Now she was all feminine, even in her aggressiveness. Her lithe body was lined with taut, ready muscles that seemed aching for an excuse to work, and her sword-scarred arms told of a violent life. Her hands, while small were rough and calloused, not the hands of a Lady certainly. He noted her dark hair, strong features and deep eyes but couldn’t put a name to the face. He tried to blame it on the disfiguring scar that marked her but he knew that was a lie. “We weren’t…” he trailed off suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. “Not to brag but I was with quite a few, I can’t remember…”

She gagged. “Seven Hells, no. Thank the Gods for minor miracles, but no that is not how we met.”

“Well it’s never too late,” he said before he hid his mouth behind his drink. 

Resisting the urge to strike him she rolled her eyes. “I think not.”

“Well not now,” he admitted sadly, “but after a few weeks at sea you may change your mind. Circumstances such as that might require unusual concessions.”

She finished her wine in a single gulp and set the cup on the table between them while standing. Looking around the crowded deck, she spotted Missandei and Daenerys sitting together, talking quietly. “You’re right Imp,” she teased, “a trip like this will surely require many, many concessions.”

“Many? Really, well I’m glad we agree…”

“Do you think Missandei would be interested?” she asked casually as she barked out a laugh and headed off away from the stunned Lannister. 

He called out to her when she was halfway across the deck. “Oh I knew there was a reason I liked you killer. Well played indeed.”

Without looking back, she held up a hand and offered him an offensive wave. 

“At least tell me when we met!” he pleaded. 

She kept walking, aware of the others listening and watching them. An audience that now included the Queen who had stopped talking and was giving Tyrion and the assassin her full attention. She threw a look over her shoulder at Tyrion who was watching her flee, her eyes landing on the scar that divided his face. “When we first met Lord Lannister, it was long before the Blackwater made you pretty.”

 

R-C

It was midday when Daenerys came to the area where A was teaching Kovarro some tactics. The Blood-Rider was mesmerized by his teacher and Daenerys could understand why. She watched as the injured woman fluidly moved around the deck, ducking, swirling and twisting in a dance that always ended with her blade against something vital. 

She was still watching when she realized that she wasn’t alone. Missandei stood beside her. “She is quite impressive Khaleesi. Our army will be the best that ever was.”

She smiled at her friend and together they watched as A corrected some of the Dothraki. The language barrier made it difficult, so Daenerys sent Missandei to translate. 

After brief, half-hearted conversations with Tyrion, Jorah, and Barristan she wandered back toward the area of the ship where the warriors were training. What she found was beyond impressive, every soldier on the boat, and many who were not fighters stood in a circle, watching the lessons provided. 

As a teacher A was clear, intelligent and even-tempered. With Missandei translating the lesson went smoothly. 

When it was over Daenerys walked over and offered her instructor water. “I see my choice to hire you was wise. Although I didn’t expect you to start training anyone until after you were fully healed.”

She looked down at the offending wound. “As long as the stitches stay closed, I’ll be fine,” she promised. In a dramatic motion she rolled her arm in a circle, testing her shoulder as well, showing off her ability. “A little slow moving up and left,” she demonstrated, “but better than most.”

“Be careful please,” Daenerys whispered before she could hold back the words. 

“You needn’t worry your Grace, I’ll be fine.”

She was called away from their conversation by Grey Worm who wanted a sparring partner. Looking rather pleased by the offer she shrugged her shoulders and reached for her sword. 

“Be careful please,” Daenerys repeated, whispering into the empty space where the assassin had been standing. 

 

R-C

 

They’d been at sea for six days before Daenerys could hold her tongue no longer and marched into A’s quarters, finding her in bed, on top of the covers naked and alone, sprawled out on her stomach. 

Groggily she rolled over when she heard the door, revealing a blushing Daenerys who was frozen between the door and the bed. 

Forgetting that she was naked she moved off the bed and bowed her head. “How can I be of service, your Grace?”

Startled Daenerys turned her back, so she was facing the door, but not before getting a good look at the assassin’s naked body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were resting. I will return and we can speak later.”

“I’m awake,” the killer assured her. “Is something wrong?”

Daenerys looked down at her arm, the bandage had come off and a thin line was the only proof of what had happened. She traced the injury with her finger. “Can you explain to me how you know what you know about this?”

With a nod she began moving about the room, finding a pair of loose brown trousers and pulling them on, before searching out a shirt. She began answering before she’d even found the garment. “I’m not sure how or why, but I’m able to connect with animals. It’s just something…”

Her usually confident words felt stunted and uncivilized as she sought to explain something she herself didn’t understand. Mercifully Daenerys got to the heart of the matter much quicker than the assassin expected. 

“Animals?” She verified, a determined look on her face as she thought back. “The bird!” she exclaimed after a pause. “That bird I saw, it wasn’t a dream. That…”

“Yes, that was me” she answered, stopping the Queen from finishing. “I meant you no harm your Grace, I swear, I was just concerned about your welfare, so I looked in on you.”

There was another pause while Daenerys grappled with the new information. Her eyes flickered down to the scar. “What happened the night of the attack?”

“I was in the body of the bird,” she explained, finally finding a shirt and slipping it over her head. “I was watching and could see the boats approaching. I made as much noise as I could and tried to show Grey Worm and the others the boats before they got too close.”

Daenerys shivered as the memories flooded her. “The dog?”

Turning around she faced her Queen but avoided her eyes intentionally. “The dog was on one of the boats your Grace, with a man who was holding a ladder.”

“What happened to him?”

With a predatory smirk the warg bared her teeth. “His dog bit him my Queen, a gruesome injury to be sure.” 

In her mind Daenerys did her best to reconcile her memories with the new point of view she was hearing now. “I wondered where the dog came from but when it attacked the assassins I decided I didn’t really care.”

After peppering the killer with questions Daenerys thought of one that terrified her to the core. “The dog, it died, I remember. Did that, hurt?” her voice broke on the last word and she moved closer to the statue-like woman. 

“Only for a moment. I had only bonded to the dog once, so we were not very connected.”

“So if you bond with an animal more often, the connection is deeper?” she clarified. 

“Yes,” she answered, picturing a direwolf, the only animal she ever felt truly connected to. 

So lost in thought she was that the Queen had to repeat her next question to get an answer. “What do you bond with the most?”

Aware that she couldn’t say too much without revealing who she was, who she used to be, she chose her words carefully. “I had a pet when I was a girl, Nymeria. She is the only animal I bonded with frequently.”

“That’s incredible,” she gasped, finding yet another reason to be fascinated by the young woman. “In Braavos, they don’t know do they?”

She shook her head and pushed her fingers through her long hair. “No one has ever known, until today.”

Flattered to be rewarded with the truth Daenerys smiled and took the girl’s hand squeezing softly as she wound their fingers together. “No one shall hear your secret from me, you have my word.”

 

R-C

By the third week on the water A’s injuries had healed and she was beginning to feel as though she was back to her natural state. As was becoming habit, after an afternoon of training with Grey Worm, Kovarro and the other soldiers, she joined the Queen and Missandei for a drink. 

During their conversations they learned more about one another and the assassin was finding it hard to balance on the knife’s edge. She had been Arya Stark, then No One, and now she was A. Daenerys never pushed or pried but her innocent, unthreatening way of asking questions cut through to the heart of the matter with ease. More than once she caught herself about to answer a question with the undisguised truth, something she hadn’t uttered in years. 

“Tyrion is staring again Khaleesi,” Missandei pointed out as they sat together. All eyes shifted to where Tyrion was standing with Jorah, both men looking toward the women, and both sets of eyes on the newest arrival. 

“It’s not me he’s staring at,” Daenerys said with humor, making the Northern girl blush like a child. 

“He still can not recall you,” Missandei said, as all three women looked away from the dwarf and back to each other. 

“That’s probably for the best,” she muttered, more to herself than to the ladies. Sensing this was a suitable time she decided to broach a delicate subject. “Your Grace can I ask you something?”

With a warm friendly smile Daenerys’s flawless hand reached across the tabletop to touch the scarred one. “You may ask what you wish, as long as you remember to call me Daenerys.”

So out of practice with all things noble she groaned at her own foolishness. “Of course Daenerys.”

“Now what is your question?”

With the moment upon them she found it hard to find the right words. “Well, uh, I was just wondering if, how you knew you could trust Tyrion. He’s a Lannister and they are still the true authority in Westeros, both in King’s Landing and Casterly Rock. Were you not worried?”

Daenerys’s expression softened and she turned thoughtful before she answered. Her bright eyes got a faraway quality to them briefly before the fog cleared and she spoke in a voice that was unwavering in its certainty but also tinged with sadness. “My father was ‘The Mad King’”, she said simply as if that would explain everything. “My brother was a cruel man who was no dragon at all. I as surely as anyone understand that we can not choose our family.”

Unsure of how to respond no one spoke, but Daenerys wasn’t finished. “I was certainly concerned at first, questioning Tyrion’s loyalty but he knows more about Westeros than I could ever dream to learn and he’s been honest, helpful and honorable since he arrived here. If I don’t wish to be judged for my brother’s actions and the evil deeds of my father, I can not rightly hold Tyrion accountable for the actions of his father, his brother or his sister.”

The Northern girl nodded in both understanding and agreement. She was still eager to hear the truth about Tyrion’s involvement in the deaths of her loved ones, but she suspected he was not an active participant. It was why she hadn’t found it difficult to be around him now, because she didn’t hold him as responsible as the rest of his bloodline for her suffering. 

It gave her a measure of hope, hearing Daenerys speak on the subject. Maybe there was a way, she could reveal who she was, and become Arya Stark again. If Daenerys could allow a Lannister in her service, then surely there was room for a Stark too right?

The decision was taken from her when Ser Jorah arrived to steal Daenerys away for an important conversation that simply couldn’t wait. As soon as the Queen was gone she excused herself and fled like a coward to her quarters. 

Behind the closed door she wondered if she’d just been spared or tortured. Had Jorah’s interruption been a saving grace meant to postpone the Queen learning the truth or was it cruel to push the conversation along until later? 

R-C

 

Training with Kovarro was the most fun she’d had in a while. He was clever, naturally violent and had an edge that made him a terrific partner. The two spent hours together, dancing on the ship’s deck, in the heat of the sun and long after the sky was dark. 

After a particularly rough session where Kovarro had sliced her shirt several times and left more skin exposed than fabric she headed back to her quarters with a slight hitch in her step and blood running from a cut at the bridge of her nose. 

Waiting in her room the Dragon Queen already had bandages prepared. “Your… Daenerys.”

She smiled and looked younger. “Yes I am, now come sit so I can tend to your wounds.”

The killer didn’t move. “That won’t be necessary…”

In a flash Daenerys’s voice was full of authority and undisclosed power. “You would defy your Queen?” 

“Of course not.”

She patted the bed with a small hand. “Then come sit so I can tend to your wounds.”

Removing her shirt on the way to the bed, she took a seat beside the small queen and waited. The touch as she cleaned away the blood was lighter than a breeze, leaving goosebumps behind on her skin. 

As she worked Daenerys’s eyes roamed the collection of war markers that dotted her skin like a roadmap. Taking note of a particularly angry looking, purple scar near her hip Daenerys cleaned the area needlessly before she skimmed her finger over the raised, uneven flesh. “What happened here?” 

The heat from the Dragon’s hand as it moved about her body had her on fire. She was strong enough to swallow down the moan that had been on the tip of her tongue when Daenerys touched her, but she couldn’t control her eyes which seemed to close of their own accord with Daenerys so close. 

Her question brought the assassin’s eyes open and she looked down at the mark in question, going back in time to remember how she earned it. A vicious smile graced her hardened features. “That one was from Ilyn Payne, your Grace.”

A throat cleared from the doorway and both women looked to see Tyrion standing there, with a smug smile. Ignoring the killer’s state of undress, he stepped inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt but Missandei thought I might find you in here.”

Daenerys wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with their situation. She was fearless, just like she’d been in the alley. “It’s fine Tyrion, I’m just ensuring our friend didn’t get hurt too badly training.”

With a knowing grin Tyrion took another step toward the bed. “Yes, well that is very important.”

“Is there something you needed Lord Tyrion?” Daenerys asked formally. 

“Oh nothing that can’t wait your Grace,” he answered. “I think I’d much rather the killer finish her tale.” He nodded to the scar in question, that Daenerys was still tracing in a soothing motion. “Ilyn Payne gave you that?”

Sitting up fully Arya moved out of the Queen’s reach before she went in search of a shirt that would cover her. “A long time ago,” she said as she opened a drawer, answering his question while successfully avoiding two sets of intense eyes. 

“He was a vile bastard,” Tyrion said plainly. “Is he still doing my sister’s bidding?”

She tugged the shirt down over her stomach and adjusted it before she turned. Her eyes were hard and the rage in her barely concealed. “He isn’t doing anything anymore.”

“Really?” he prodded. “Well isn’t that interesting. What did the cruel Ser Payne do to you?”

Arya took a deep breath and her hands shook at her sides so violently she stuffed them into her pockets. This was it, the moment of truth. She’d either have to tell them or not, but this was the crossroads. She could lie and remain as A, the unknown Faceless Man or she could tell Tyrion the truth, introduce herself to the Queen and hope for mercy as she became Arya Stark of Winterfell once again. 

Tyrion was looking at her like a puzzle he couldn’t solve, eager for the answer, but Daenerys’s expression was different. Her eyes were wide and bright, and she shifted to the edge of the bed, as if sitting closer would allow her to hear the answer sooner. It was then she realized just how curious Daenerys was on the subject. Still, she’d never once pressured her for information and for that she was grateful. Perhaps it was time to repay the Queen’s kindness, with the truth. 

“I killed Ilyn Payne because he murdered my father.” There was an audible gasp from behind her but Arya’s eyes were on the dwarf alone, watching for the moment he understood. Lifting up her shirt she showed a small mark just above her belly button. “This one, I almost got skewered getting close to Meryn Trant, he killed my friend and my dancing instructor.”

“Trant?” Tyrion repeated. “Payne…” his words were whispers in the tense air. 

Having come so far it was too late to back out, letting her shirt fall back into place. “Walder Frey took a little more effort,” she explained. Moving closer to the stunned Lannister she reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt. “It was a lot of work, but sometimes its worth it, like while seeking revenge on the man who murdered my brother and mother while I was outside waiting to see them.”

And there it was. Knowledge. With an awestruck expression Tyrion wrenched away from Arya’s hold. “It can’t be,” he gasped. “Impossible.”

In the background Daenerys demanded answers, but they were both too lost in their memories. “What’s the matter dwarf?” Arya asked, her words as sharp as her blades. “You don’t recognize family?”

“Family?!” Daenerys roared, no longer content to be ignored. 

Tyrion tried to clear up the confusion. “Your Grace…”

With a nudge that almost sent Tyrion falling out the door she turned and faced Daenerys again. Looking at the furious dragon she fell to her knee. “My Queen, as I’m sure Tyrion will confirm, before I was one of the Faceless Men from Braavos, my name was Arya Stark of Winterfell. I offer my service and my sword to help you reclaim your throne.”

 

R-C

Two hours after she revealed herself the three of them were still together in her quarters, discussing how such a thing was even possible, 

“I thought Arya Stark was killed the day her father died,” Daenerys said, repeating the lie she’d been told. 

“Trant was sent after her, but she fled,” Tyrion remembered. “The city was locked down, she was a girl, alone with no money and no help, it was believed she died before she could escape.”

Daenerys’s expression shifted from one of sadness to one of anger when she locked onto Tyrion. “And you!” she shouted at him. “How can you fail to recognize your own sister in law?” When no answer was forthcoming she prodded further. “You were married to Sansa Stark were you not?”

The horrified dwarf muttered his agreement, looking to Arya for help. When he didn’t find any he ventured out alone. “An honest mistake, your Grace. It was many years ago and Arya was just a girl when her father died.” After a moment of silence, he thought of another point to bolster his case. “Besides Arya here looks of her father while Sansa was her mother through and through.”

The three of them sat together at the tiny circular table in Arya’s chambers and she told them the story that she’d hidden so long. It was difficult and painful to recall the events of her youth, but she felt she owed Daenerys at least that much, so she told her everything, of Syrio, Yoren, Jaqen, the Hound, the Twins, all the way to Braavos. 

Her audience hung on her every word and she avoided Tyrion’s eyes as much as possible. “This Hound, he’s alive?” Daenerys asked, clearly thinking about her army facing him on the battle field. 

Arya shook her head. “I doubt he survived,” she said with a hint of regret, “but even if he did, you won’t find him in King’s Landing.” Looking at Daenerys the killer winked. “To be honest I’m a bit surprised he didn’t get here before I did, he was always talking about crossing the sea to find work.”

When she spoke of the wedding and how she’d been there and seen her brother’s body paraded through to cheers, Daenerys covered her mouth and shook her head in despair. 

“Tell me you didn’t know!” Arya commanded lunging for Tyrion as they discussed it, unable to settle her anger.

“I didn’t,” he answered truthfully, “not until after.”

She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but in the end it didn’t matter. Daenerys trusted him and that had to count for something. Just as Daenerys was choosing to give her a chance, she owed the same to Tyrion. If he wanted to prove he wasn’t like his family, she would give him the opportunity to do so. She released him. 

While she waited she thought of Sansa, her sister. She didn’t think of their strained relationship or their many arguments but instead how scared she likely was, first having to contend with Joffery and then Tyrion. Sansa was smart and beautiful and strong but Arya worried she didn’t have the skills to contend with the Lannisters on her own. 

The tension in Tyrion melted away visibly and she waited until he settled before she spoke. “I won’t hold you responsible for the actions of others, but I swear to the Many Faced God if you harmed Sansa in anyway I will personally send you back to Cersei in small pieces.”

She heard an audible gasp but she wasn’t sure if it came from Daenerys or the Lannister himself. “I never touched Sansa, in any way, ever!” he emphasized the last word to make sure his point was made. 

The sincerity in his words was obvious. Even a Lannister wasn’t that good a liar. She accepted his account with a simple, silent nod. “You killed your father?”

“Yes.”

“Shame, I dreamt of killing him plenty.”

Tyrion smoothed out the wrinkle in his shirt and reached for a jug of wine. “No more than I, Lady Stark. No more than I.”

R-C

After confessing her identity, it took several days for Arya to get comfortable hearing her own name. After so long being anyone but Arya and then No One, it was a difficult adjustment. 

Only Tyrion and Daenerys knew the truth. The others were told she’d chosen the name Arya for herself, but nothing beyond that. In addition, she’d began to learn both Dothraki and Valyrian so she could converse with Kovarro, Grey Worm, Missandei and Daenerys more completely.   
Not long after she revealed her identity, Tyrion and Daenerys came from a meeting to find the ship’s deck full of drunken sailors. On the short walk she was able to ascertain they were engaged in some sort of primitive drinking game. With raucous laughter and loudly stomped feet the Dothraki cheered. Both Daenerys and Tyrion looked and were equally surprised to find Arya standing on the table top with an empty mug in each hand, while a serving girl held up a third to her lips. Wild cheers erupted from the crowd and Arya threw her hands up in victory as she finished the last of the liquid. 

With a belch that would have seemed large coming from a man twice her size she jumped down from the table, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs before she found her seat. 

Tyrion looked at his Queen and couldn’t hold his laugh. “Seems the Stark still remembers how to make friends.”

“The Dothraki value strength, they honor power, and they save their greatest rewards for the best warriors. Arya is the embodiment of these principles,” she admitted with a fond smile. “I suspect they’ll get along well.”

Tyrion’s eyes followed the Queen’s back to the table where Arya was now standing, cheering loudly as a Dothraki attempted to drink even more than she had. Taking note of her indulgent smile, and the way her eyes never left Arya, Tyrion made a bold prediction. “Yes, I suspect everyone is going to get along splendidly.” 

One night after dinner, roughly half the way to Westeros Daenerys called for the Stark to join her in her quarters. When she arrived Arya found her sitting in leather similar to Kovarro’s, looking down at something in her hand. 

She knocked and Daenerys turned and smiled when she saw her guest. “Arya, come in,” she said warmly. 

Inside the room Arya could see that Daenerys was playing with the iron coin she’d given before she left Meereen for Braavos. “Is something the matter, your Grace?” she asked, still unable to get in the habit of calling the Queen by name. 

“I think I’d like to trade in this coin,” she said tossing it into the air and catching it, looking satisfied when she accomplished her task on the first attempt. 

Arya stood a little straighter and squared her shoulders. “I am at your service Daenerys. Tell me who needs the Gift and I will see it done.”

The beautiful queen shook her head and Arya noticed for the first time that her long hair was braided and secured, tied back as if she wanted to keep it out of the way. “That isn’t the service I need,” she explained, sounding shy. 

“What do you need?”

She looked away from Arya’s face, looking instead at a spot on the wall over her shoulder. “I’d like lessons,” she finally admitted. “The fight with the pirates showed me how little my knowledge translates to action.” She took a deep breath and forged ahead. “I do not want to be one of those queens who simply hides behind her army. My ancestors went to war on the backs of dragons, I will not cower. I am Daenerys the Stormborn.”

 

Arya nodded, both understanding and appreciating Daenerys’s point of view. “When would you like to start?”

With a gasp Daenerys reached out and took Arya’s hand. “You’ll do it?”

She was surprised by the question. “Of course. Every queen should be able to wield a blade, if need be. We still have a few weeks before we make land in Westeros. I can have you ready by the time we get there.”

In a flash Daenerys leapt into Arya’s arms, hugging her tightly and speaking into her chest. “Thank you, thank you so much. My brother never let me learn the sword, insisting I didn’t need to know. Afterward it was too late. I asked Darrio to aid me once and he laughed. Jorah said his job was to ensure I didn’t need to draw a blade.”

“They are all fools,” she countered. “Everybody, man, woman or child should be able to stay alive. Even more so for a queen.” 

“Thank you Arya.”

The assassin nodded. “First we must find you a proper weapon. The night the ship was attacked the sword you were using was too big, and too heavy, you couldn’t control it.”

Daenerys stood there, looking every bit the Khaleesi, in her riding clothes. “What would you recommend?”

From under her sleeve Arya produced a small straight, double-sided dagger. “In close, a weapon like this would be perfect,” she predicted. As she handed it over she issued a warning. “Be careful, it’s sharp.” 

Daenerys held the weapon tightly and moved it around in her hands. “It is really light,” she commented. 

“It doesn’t need to be heavy to be dangerous. I killed Trant with that dagger. I stuck it through his eye.” With a hard look at her pupil, she added, “You’re short, so if you need to use it, you should aim for the neck or the ear.” She took the dagger from the woman and showed her a proper thrusting motion. “Keep it hidden, wait for them to get close and then strike. Bury this in someone’s neck and no matter how big they are, they’ll fall.”

Arya handed the knife back and smiled as she watched the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms practicing her form on an imaginary target. 

Daenerys listened to every tip as if it were the meaning of life. “And if it comes to battle, like the night on the ship?”

Her eyes hardened and her voice grew even more serious than usual. “If there is trouble, I’ll be there, so you needn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” she resisted. 

Arya smiled. “Of course not. In that case we’ll get you a short-sword of some kind, something light and easy to maneuver. With a little practice, you’ll be just like Nymeria and your ancestors before you know it.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened. “Nymeria? Isn’t she your pet?”

She laughed, an honest to Gods laugh that shook her body and brought tears to blur her vision. “No your   
Grace,” she said as she fought to wrangle the laughter. “Nymeria was named after the famous Warrior Queen from Essos. Like her, or your ancestors the women were both royalty and warriors and you can be too.”

“We can be,” Daenerys corrected. “You’re likely the rightful heir to Winterfell and one of the greatest fighters I’ve ever seen.”

Looking down at her hands, the hands that had killed so many she spoke in a low, eerily calm voice. “I never wanted that. I didn’t want to be a Lady, gossiping at court, sewing and cooking for some fat husband. I wanted to be a soldier, like my brothers, like my father.”

Putting the dagger on her belt Daenerys took both of Arya’s hands and held them in the space between their bodies. “I’m sure your father and brothers would be proud of you. You saved my life Arya, you’re a hero.”

She pulled her hands away more violently than she intended. As she turned away she pretended not to notice the look of hurt in Daenerys’s clear eyes. “If they knew what I’d done, what I am, they’d hate me. I bring shame onto our whole family.” Before Daenerys could decide how to counter that statement Arya was moving further away, whispering as she went. “Remember in Meereen when I woke up and tried to hurt you?”

“That was an accident,” Daenerys said too quickly, silently wishing they weren’t reopening this old wound. She had no desire to discuss this again. 

“Do you remember when I submitted to let you kill me?”

Daenerys swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“While I was waiting for you to do it, there was a moment where I actually felt relief. Relief because it would finally be over and I could stop shaming my father’s memory.”

A hand on Arya’s shoulder tried to turn her, but she refused to go, so Daenerys settled for reaching around her body and hugging her from behind. “I never considered it, you know. Killing you, I never even considered it for a second.”

She turned around in the cage that was Daenerys’s arms and their eyes met. “You should have.”

Daenerys lifted up onto her toes, inching closer to Arya’s face. “Maybe I’d miss you if you were gone.”

With calloused hands resting on the hips of her leather pants Arya pulled the Queen just a little bit closer, tilting her own head to account for Daenerys’s height. “We could find you a pet,” she offered, licking her lips. “Then you wouldn’t miss me at all.”

With their mouths so close, Daenerys’s words vibrated across Arya’s lips, with a rush of warm, sweet smelling air. “A pet, like you had?” she asked in a breathy whisper. 

“Mmhmm.”

“What animal was she?” Their lips finally came together and any answer Arya intended to give was muffled by the Queen. It was like silk against her mouth and Arya felt a shiver course through her body that had nothing to do with the cold. With one hand on Daenerys’s hip the other slid up her back and into her hair. As the kiss continued it was Daenerys’s tongue that traced across the closed seam of Arya’s mouth first, working for entry. 

When her mouth opened Daenerys’s soft tongue was quick to slither inside, rolling around and challenging her own tongue to a duel. 

A strong hand pulled Daenerys closer to Arya’s body, pressing them together in harmony as their mouths wrestled for dominance. Arya had never had a kiss like this, it was making it hard to think. Suddenly she was overrun with feelings, the feeling of Daenerys’s mouth, her tongue, the softness of their bodies pressed together. Even the hand lazily roaming in her shaggy dark hair invoked feelings she wasn’t prepared for. 

When air became a necessity and the two women separated Arya blushed. “I’m sorr…”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she snapped, dropping another shorter kiss on Arya’s lips to still her.

At a loss she deferred to her Queen. “Okay, no apologies. What should I do then?”

Daenerys licked her lips, tasting the flavor Arya left behind. “Well you can start by telling me about Nymeria. What kind of animal was she?”

Feeling shy, Arya muttered the answer. When asked to repeat herself she managed to sound like she wasn’t a complete invalid. “She was a direwolf your Grace.”

With a smirk that looked rather proud Dany lifted up onto her toes for another kiss. “You know, if we’re going to keep kissing you’re really going to need to start calling me Daenerys.”

Not wanting to pass up the opportunity she swallowed her nerves and kissed back. “As you wish, Daenerys.”

Daenerys smiled and sat down, pulling Arya to the bed beside her. “So you had a pet wolf. That sounds dangerous.”

Her response was a knowing chuckle and a roll of her stormy eyes. “Says the Mother of Dragons.”


	6. Chapter 6

In the days after their first kiss Arya divided her time fairly evenly between Daenerys and the rest of the army. While the Queen was handling matters of state or attending meetings, Arya worked with Grey Worm, Kovarro and the others. When Daenerys was free and interested, Arya went to work teaching her to wield a sword. 

“Turn your body!” Arya commanded as she watched Daenerys move. When the Queen’s natural instincts steered her wrong Arya would jump down from atop the crate where she was sitting and approach Daenerys with purpose. Strong hands grabbed her body and moved her as she intended, often lingering for longer than necessary, with hungry stares passed back and forth. 

After three days of teaching Daenerys to hold the sword, swing the sword and angle her body Arya felt she was ready for a target. Using wood intended for fires she made a dummy and set it up for Daenerys to strike. 

“Is this how they taught you at the House of Black and White?” she wondered as she extended her arm, and flicked her wrist, bringing the razor-sharp edge down on the heart of the dummy. 

Arya was next to the Khaleesi in an instant. “Be grateful my methods aren’t quite the same, your Grace,” she said kindly, adjusting Daenerys’s posture.

“And why’s that?”

She leaned over and kissed Daenerys’s sweat-covered cheek, the first time she initiated a kiss outside of Daenerys’s chambers. “Because,” she whispered as she stepped back, “you have really beautiful eyes and it’d be a shame for something to happen to them.”

After another quick adjustment Daenerys went back to work on the dummy, quizzing the Northern girl as she practiced. “They blinded you?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, for a little while they did.”

“Did it help?”

“A bit,” she answered, silently afraid Daenerys would want to be blinded for her next lesson. 

She heard steel being tucked into a scabbard and she felt a sweaty hand covering each of her eyes. “If you don’t need your eyes,” she urged, “prove it!”

Unable to turn down a challenge Arya closed her eyes, while she growled playfully at the Queen. With her eyes closed she listened to her surroundings. She heard a lot, surely enough to impress Daenerys, but she got another more devious idea. Shifting her focus off the sounds, she found a bird flying nearby and bonded with it. In seconds the bird was flying over the ship and Arya was taking note of everything she could see from his eyes. 

“Missandei and Grey Worm are whispering in the doorway to your meeting room,” the blinded girl informed her ruler. “Tyrion is on his third glass of wine and his second book of the afternoon. Kovarro is standing between Jorah and a blonde serving girl.”

“How did you do that?” Daenerys demanded to know, pulling her hands away and looking at the killer with awe. 

Arya winked. “Magic, your Grace.”

 

R-C

When the time finally came for Daenerys to fight another living opponent, Arya spent hours considering every person on the ship, in an attempt to find her the perfect partner. In the end she chose Kovarro, because she and Daenerys both trusted him and because he’d lay down his life for the Khaleesi without delay. 

While Kovarro spoke with another Blood Rider and prepared for the practice, Daenerys bounced with excitement, practicing the moves and tactics Arya had taught, as if she were fighting a ghost. 

Before the match began Arya walked the length of the ship and found Missandei preparing the Queen’s bath for after the training was complete. Pulling her away from her task Arya steered the translator to the section of the ship reserved for training and whispered with her briefly. 

Daenerys’s lessons were a popular event and all of the soldiers came to see their Queen fight her first practice-round. The night before Daenerys had been concerned she’d embarrass herself, but Arya insisted she was ready. In the end Daenerys was persuaded. 

Pushing past the crowd, Arya left Missandei with a smile on her face and marched straight for Kovarro. In full view of everyone, and loud enough for all to hear the Westerosi girl spoke in halted, but accurate Dothraki, repeating the words Missandei had helped her to learn. “Harm her,” she said to her friend, “and you’ll wish I let you die.”

Kovarro nodded in understanding and bowed formally in a gesture of respect to the assassin who saved his life. Satisfied she moved away from the Dothraki and walked to where Daenerys was waiting with a smirk. “That was unnecessary,” she said. 

Arya shrugged and kissed her lips lightly, earning a cheer from the Dothraki in the crowd. “Unnecessary or not, it doesn’t make it any less true.” 

She slapped the younger woman lightly on the arm. “Be nice,” she ordered. 

With one final stern look for Kovarro, Arya stepped away from the Queen moving to a spot where she could watch the match undisturbed. Just before she was out of reach she grabbed Daenerys’s wrist and pulled her close. “Kovarro’s favoring his right knee today,” she whispered, “make him run and wait for your opening.”

Once she was standing off to the side the battle began. Kovarro and Daenerys were both using simple short swords. As they circled one another for the first time Arya couldn’t look away. 

“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Jorah asked her. 

“She’s a Targaryen,” she reminded him coldly, wincing as Kovarro landed a kick to Daenerys’s knee. “She should have been holding a sword since before she could stand.”

“The Khaleesi has an army.”

“Yes, she does, but that won’t do her any good if they sneak into her castle at night to kill her.”

“You can’t truly…”

Jorah’s point was never made because Daenerys took a wild swing with her sword and missed Kovarro’s head by an inch. In that moment everything but the battle melted away and nothing existed for Arya except Daenerys. As she struggled to recover control of the blade, Kovarro took a swing at her chest. She dodged it just as Arya had taught her to, and the Queen’s move earned a roar of appreciation from the onlookers. 

With every swing, Arya was forced to hold her breath and trust the training. The blade got dangerously close to Daenerys’s neck, causing Jorah to move toward the match, only to be stopped by Arya’s firm grip. The two concerned witnesses watched as just before the blade reached her Daenerys managed to get her sword up in a blocking position. Kovarro and Daenerys both struggled, pushing back and forth for control. From the side Arya silently urged her Queen to make the next move. 

While Kovarro slowly inched his sword closer and closer to the Khaleesi, his attention was diverted and that was exactly what she needed. A small hand reached down into her boot, reaching for the dagger hidden there. 

With Kovarro’s sword hovering above her throat, with only her thin blade keeping them apart, she lifted her left hand, bringing the dagger up and pressing it lightly into Kovarro’s neck. 

Upon feeling the blade, Kovarro dropped his sword and stepped back with his head down. The crowd screamed for their Queen as Arya brushed past everyone, Jorah included to greet the victor. They met there in the center of the circle for a hug. Arya spun the tiny Dragon around and listened to her happy laugh in reply. “Did you see that? I did exactly what you said, I waited until he got close, kept him distracted and strike.”

Arya kissed her lover passionately, forgetting briefly about the crowd until the whistles and cat calls echoed all around her. “You did great,” she confessed, setting Daenerys down on her own feet again. “It was perfect.”

With the glow of success radiating off her she spoke to Kovarro briefly before the two hugged and went their separate ways. “I had a good teacher.” The two women laughed together and briefly forgot about their troubled pasts or the uncertain future. 

R-C

 

Once while she was in Volantis Arya saw one of Daenerys’s dragons flying overhead. It was just once, for the quickest of moments but she saw it all the same. She thought she’d be prepared for when Daenerys’s children came calling but she was not. Just days from landing in Westeros one of the beasts returned, followed by the two others. 

Sitting on the side of the boat one afternoon watching the dragon swoop down to catch dinner and then using fire breathed from its nose to cook the meal, was impressive. 

Even more impressive was standing by and seeing as one by one the three beasts landed on the bow of the ship to greet their mother. Daenerys’s confident stride as she walked up to the biggest of the three was awe inspiring. She truly was fearless. For a second Arya was concerned as the dragon turned his massive head and locked eyes with Daenerys, but before her hand could reach for the sword she wore the animal yielded. Before long he was flat on the deck, low enough that the tiny human could trace the scales down his back. 

Tyrion appeared next to her with wine and two glasses. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” he comments, gesturing to the odd family reunion. “I remember the first time I saw them with my own eyes.”

“It’s unbelievable!”

It was quiet for a long time and one dragon flew away before the next took his place. “Are you having any doubts?”

“Doubts?”

“About returning home,” he elaborated. “Winterfell, your family, all of it. Are you having any regrets?”

“That’s a question you should ask yourself dwarf,” she told him plainly, although the words didn’t have any bite to them and it was obvious from Tyrion’s expression, he noticed. “My family is all gone, but yours still lives. Are you going to have regrets when it’s Cersei and Jamie on the other side of the Queen’s army?”

For a long time, he didn’t answer. When he did he shocked Arya with the fierceness behind his words. “My family is as dead as yours, they just don’t know it yet.”

Looking out over the water in the general direction of Winterfell, Arya closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to the Many Faced God. After years of waiting the time for vengeance had finally arrived. 

 

R-C

 

She’d fallen asleep on the deck of the boat, watching the horizon for the first sight of Westeros. She’d drifted to sleep and had been enjoying a very pleasant dream involving a Queen and an assassin before the perfection was shattered by the ringing of a bell. 

Jerking awake Arya jumped to her feet and was met on the port side by Grey Worm and Ser Jorah. “One of the Unsullied was watching from the crow’s nest and saw an approaching ship with Lannister flags.”

Tyrion understood what was happening before the rest. “My sister sends emissaries,” he told them. 

By the time the boats were within range every soldier on the first five of Daenerys’s ships was armed and ready. Daenerys herself was dressed as a Dothraki warrior rather than a Westerosi queen. Her sword, which she’d spent weeks practicing with, hung ready at her side and the dagger Arya gave her was sharp and waiting in her boot. 

As the plank came over to connect the ships Arya moved closer to Daenerys. “Are you ready?” she asked. 

Daenerys took her hand and locked their fingers together. “We’ve waited a long time for this,” she said simply. It didn’t escape Arya’s notice that she said the word ‘we’. 

The two shared a brief kiss before Arya made use of the High Valyrian she had been struggling to learn. “Stay close.” 

Turning to her right she saw Kovarro there, looking eager for a fight. Just as she’d addressed Daenerys in her language, Arya used Dothraki for her sparring partner. “If they touch her,” she said, pointing the tip of her sword at Daenerys, “kill them all.”

The air was thick with tension as a team of three, two men and one woman walked along the plank, from their ship to Daenerys’s. 

Daenerys whispered to Tyrion as the three worked their way closer, but Arya wasn’t listening, her focus was on the potential danger. Something didn’t feel right. Cersei Lannister wasn’t the type to send emissaries and talk of peace. She was the type to smile to your face while she turned the knife in your back. As such Arya expected an ambush. 

The three Lannister representatives introduced themselves. Marco was a member of the Queen’s Guard, a tall man with greying hair who Arya was stunned to recognize when he removed his helmet. With clarity she remembered how Trant and a group of his men attacked Syrio when all he had was a wooden sword to defend himself with. She recalled this Marco as one of the men who attacked him before she fled. 

Next to Marco was a woman named Wendy who was obviously a Lannister, given her coloring and features. She looked terrified and uneasy, her eyes moving from face to face until she landed on the menacing Dothraki and suddenly became very interested in the water in the distance. 

The last of the group was carrying a chest and like Marco was dressed in the uniform of a Queen’s Guard. If he said his name Arya didn’t hear it, but his name wasn’t the least bit important to her. He was younger than Marco and bigger. Arya prepared herself, if there was a fight, he’d need to die first. 

Afraid Marco might recognize her, despite the years that had past Arya turned away from the crowd and applied direct pressure to the scar, making use of the two faces she was given. With another woman’s features replacing her own she walked back to Daenerys and noticed the look of shock in her eyes before she hid her feelings. 

Eyes watched the three guests from all the nearby ships and archers lined the decks of the closest, ready to attack if the Queen was put in danger. Arya’s hand hovered near her weapon as Marco presented Daenerys with a chest of gold and jewels to honor her success across the sea. 

With a smug smile Daenerys instructed for one of her troops to take the chest away. As one Unsullied disappeared with the gold she provided a smile. “Thank you,” she said falsely. “Was that the only reason for your visit?”

Marco scoffed at her in response and Wendy took a step back as Arya moved forward, growling defiantly like the Wolf she was. 

“Problem bitch?” he hissed before he turned his focus back to the Khaleesi. “Daenerys Targaryen, Queen Cersei wishes peace. She proposes an alliance and friendship. Bring your ships into the port and she will meet you for negotiations.”

“That is a very…” Daenerys’s words were drowned out and although Arya could see her lips moving, the only sound she heard was the howling of a wolf. 

Both sides tensed at the unexpected call. Arya slipped away from the group and looked for a wolf along the shore. What she found surprised her far more than she thought possible. It wasn’t one direwolf but five, and the one in front looked incredibly familiar. “Nym?” she whispered as she closed her eyes and tried to focus. 

The voices of the meeting on the ship’s deck got further away as she slipped into Nymeria. After so long, it still felt natural and easy to bond with the wolf. Using her keen sense of smell, she immediately noticed the scent of men, lots of them, along the shoreline. Crouching down in Nym’s skin she peeked through the grass until she saw the archers lying in wait. She also recognized a barrel of Wildfire just waiting to be pushed out to sea. 

As soon as she settled back into her own body she was drawing her blade and barking orders. She commanded the ship to retreat as quickly as possible, and for Grey Worm to sink the Lannister vessel, all while she hurried toward Daenerys.

It was chaos but in the moment Arya felt certain. She knew what to do. Arrows flew in every direction as she kept low and sprinted for Daenerys at top speed. 

When she got back to the meeting, Tyrion was being held against his will by Marco, steel to his throat, while Wendy cowered in fear and the second guard held his sword up in warning, attempting to hold back Kovarro and Ser Jorah. 

“You don’t give orders!” the knight shouted as she reached him. 

She ignored his tone and put herself between Daenerys and the danger. Looking at Marco she smirked. “Hey you, think you can beat a little girl?” she said in her most pitiful voice. “Put the Imp down.”

Marco spit on the deck at her feet. “I don’t take orders from a horse-lord whore or her slaves. The Queen wants her brother returned alive so that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Really?” she asked with menace in her tone. 

“Really,” he promised. “See, the moment you step toward me, Thom there is going to slit your pretty whore’s throat.” He kept a tight grip on Tyrion as he smirked at Arya. “Now the Queen would like a proper meeting and she is waiting for us.”

Arya growled as if the lie offended her. “The only thing waiting for us on the shore is a hundred of your finest archers,” she said calmly, speaking more to Daenerys and the others than the Lannister puppets. 

Marco was surprised but he covered it quickly. “Let’s not do anything we might regret,” he said seriously, sensing the shift in the mood. “You still can’t take both of us,” he warned when he thought Arya might attack. 

Arya grinned at the challenge. From up her sleeve she drew a small folding knife. In the blink of an eye the blade was out, readied and thrown. It sliced through the air, passing in front of the Queen, Kovarro, Jorah and Missandei before landing in the throat of the Queen’s Guard Thom. In response to her movements Marco yelled and took half a step forward before Jorah’s advance pushed him back. The body fell to the deck beside the translator and Arya smirked at the man from her past. “There, now it’s just you and me. Let the dwarf go, you and I have unfinished business.”

Daenerys grabbed her hand and pinned her with a questioning look. Arya answered as best she could without words. 

Taking a fighter’s stance, she stepped away, eager to bloody her steel. Furious about his friend’s death Marco pushed Tyrion in Wendy’s general direction and took his first swing at Arya. She stayed still until the last possible moment before she stepped aside. 

Arya’s rage fed her as she danced away from every strike, toying and taunting with the Queen’s Guard and making him look foolish in the process. After rolling under a particularly harsh swing, she sliced the back of his knee, crippling him. 

A sharp kick in the center of his back sent him falling forward with his sword sliding across the wet deck. He crawled toward his weapon until Arya’s boot pinned him flat. Holding him there she snapped her fingers and demanded Wendy reveal herself from her hiding spot. 

Daenerys stood next to her looking every bit the Queen she was. “What are you doing Arya?” she whispered, her lips barely moving. 

“He killed my friend,” she said simply. 

Daenerys looked at the beaten man, who was looking up at them as best he could, given his position. Daenerys gave him a serious glare and then turned to the Northern girl. “He’s yours then, do as you wish.”

Marco, realizing what was about to happen yelled for help until he was silenced by Kovarro’s boot. “What of her?” Tyrion asked of the girl. 

Daenerys waved the girl over and she was brought by two Unsullied. “What was the plan?”

“T… the Queen wanted her brother returned, she sent us with the ransom. We were to pay it and …” her shaking words stopped all together. 

“Ransom?”

While the others didn’t understand, Arya did, it sounded exactly like something Cersei would devise. “Let me guess,” Arya said, speaking for her female captive. “You were told Tyrion had been kidnapped and that you were paying his ransom.” Wendy nodded and Arya kept going. “You were to lure the true Queen into the harbor for a supposed meeting where your archers would surely kill us all. Does that sound about right?” The only response was a weak nod and a pair of averting eyes. 

One look at Daenerys confirmed she was furious. She reached for and grabbed Wendy by the front of her colorful dress. “You pass a message along to the so-called Queen, you tell her that her brother is free to leave any time he wants, just as anyone in my service. You tell her that I will keep the chest as payment for her error in judgement. I will not be ignored and I will not be purchased like some common whore. She has one hour to clear the harbor of troops, or I’ll have my dragons do it for her.” Daenerys grinned at the woman’s terrified expression and capitalized on it. “Inform Lady Lannister that her assassins are dead.” Both Wendy and Daenerys looked toward Marco and he squirmed, very much alive. Daenerys chuckled wickedly. “Well, will be dead soon enough,” she amended. 

“Y…yes,” Wendy agreed, shaking in fear before the Mother of Dragons. 

“Tell your Queen that she has forty-eight hours to leave King’s Landing forever, or it will be her final resting place.” 

Wendy nodded, and waited for what was next, but Daenerys was done and she had no more use for the terrified woman. “Go!” Daenerys commanded, dismissing the girl with a wave. 

She scurried as far away from the Queen and her many swords as she could get, but with the Lannister ship sunk she had no where to go. “H…how, y… your Grace.”

Arya shrugged. “I hope you can swim,” she said grabbing the woman by the arm and throwing her carelessly over the side and into the cold water. As she hit with a splash cheers erupted from the Khalasar, not only from the flagship but from all of them. They stood close by and watched the scared blonde swim as though her life depended on it.

Tyrion climbed on top of a crate and called out to his relative. “Lovely to see you again Wendy. Please say hello to the family for me and let my loving sister know I’ll see her soon.”

 

R-C

 

“How did you know?” Daenerys asked her savior. 

“The howl,” she said as Grey Worm picked up Marco and had him bound and disarmed. “That was Nymeria and her friends, warning us of the danger.”

Daenerys’s eyes shined with wonder. “That was for us?”

“See,” she joked, “you’ve already got supporters in the Seven Kingdoms.”

She took Arya’s hand. “Wolves are pretty useful.”

With a smile, the kind she reserved just for Daenerys she looked toward the spot where Grey Worm had bound Marco. “What of him?” she asked, as Tyrion arrived beside them. 

“It is as I said,” the Queen decreed. “He killed your friend, he is yours to do with as you please.”

Tyrion looked at the captive. “I remember him. One of Meryn Trant’s lapdogs.” As soon as the words left his mouth he understood, looking to Arya for confirmation, which she provided in a hard look.

Tyrion threw his hands up into the air. “Well I certainly wouldn’t want to be him then,” he commented. “And killer,” he said before he walked away, “thank you for saving me. Now where did we put that wine? I’m suddenly rather thirsty.”

Daenerys and Arya both laughed as they watched the small man go. “Enjoy your drink dwarf,” she called out after him. 

“I always do!” he yelled back. 

 

R-C

 

Returning to her own face Arya took her prisoner down into the bowels of the ship, where they would not be disturbed. The whole walk he tried to persuade her to aid him, not realizing she was the same woman he fought. 

Once they were alone in the depths of the ship she took a wooden, training sword and threw it to the floor between them. “That’s all you gave Syrio, so that’s all you’ll get.” Cutting him loose she stepped back and kicked the toy weapon in his direction. She didn’t move again until he had picked it up. 

“What is wrong with you!?” he shouted. “You and that stupid whore are crazy. I don’t know you, or her or her stupid fucking friend but I didn’t kill anybody.”

She smiled and nodded as if she understood and then she stepped forward. “Get past me and maybe you’ll live long enough to get into the water. There is only one of me, so you have better odds than Syrio did.”

Growing frustrated by the cryptic talk Marco snapped. “Who the fuck is Syrio? I have no clue what you’re going on about!” As he shouted, he limped and bled in the general direction of the staircase. 

“Syrio was the name of the dancing instructor who got in the way when you and Meryn Trant were sent to abduct Arya Stark.”

Marco’s dark eyes widened. “Arya Stark? That was a long time ago. That stupid girl…”

“Grew up!” Arya’s hand lashed out, taking the sword with it. She brought her blade down on Marco’s wrist, removing the hand completely and sending it, and the wooden weapon clattering to the floor. He screamed in agony and she kicked him back to the floor. 

Clutching his newest injury, he looked up at Arya in honest fear. “You’re… “

“My father’s daughter,” she told him as she swung the sword again. This time cleaving off a forearm. His screams grew louder as she worked.

A short time later, when Marco was missing not only both hands, but both feet and large portion of one arm Arya stepped aside and looked out the window. She left her body and rejoined her direwolf on the shoreline. Not only did she see the retreat of the forces that were set to ambush Daenerys, but she also saw the castle guard riding around, preparing for an invasion. 

Back in her own body she was surprised to find she was no longer alone with Marco. Now Daenerys stood next to her, holding her hand and looking at the carnage the Stark had done. “Is everything okay?” she asked, looking at the girl’s bloody hands. 

“Fine, my Queen. Marco and I are almost finished.”

“He’s not dead?” she asked curiously. “He hasn’t screamed for a while.”

“A mercy from the Gods he doesn’t deserve.”

A startled gasp and a loud thud echoed above them as Arya looked away from her prey. Voices called for them in three languages but she shouted back that it was fine. Moments later Nymeria, wet from her swim came down the stairs to greet her Stark. 

Although she knew about the wolf, Daenerys was not prepared for the sheer size of the animal. On all four legs the beast was nearly as tall as her. Her muzzle was open, with saliva dripping from the bottom row of her teeth. 

The creature immediately softened when she saw Arya, closing her mouth, wagging her tail and lowering herself, to a less threatening size. 

“Your Grace,” she said, pushing her fingers through the soft coat. “This is Nymeria, my direwolf and my best friend.”

Tentatively but unafraid Daenerys held out hand and allowed Nym to smell it. Arya kept her hand moving through the fur, rubbing the spots she knew the beast liked. “Hello Nymeria, I’m Daenerys.” She petted the newest addition to her army and spoke in a gentle voice. “Thank you helping us,” she said honestly, scratching behind her ear. 

With an appreciative bark Nymeria licked the Queen’s hand and inched closer, allowing herself to be spoiled. A groan from the floor drew all their attention and the wolf hardened, growling and baring her teeth, moving to stand between the humans and the threat. 

“Is she here for…” her words trailed off. 

One word was all that needed to be said, but she resisted. In fact, she’d already done enough. While Marco was alive, he wouldn’t be for long. He was quickly bleeding to death and had only minutes left to live. Killing him when he was unconscious, unable to feel fear was meaningless. She solved this by splashing cold water onto the dying man’s face. When he came to he was staring into the eyes of a feral looking direwolf. 

When Marco cowered in fear Arya was there to torment him further. “You do know that all of us Stark’s have direwolves right? This one here is mine.”

Desperate to save his life, Marco took one last shot, talking in a quiet rush of frenzied words. “I didn’t kill your friend, but I remember him. Meryn Trant did that, not me.”

Arya smiled. “I know and don’t worry Trant will be waiting for you in Hell because I killed him too.”

With that she snapped her fingers and sent Nymeria to work. The hungry wolf went straight for his throat and ended his suffering far faster than he deserved. 

When it was over Arya bent down and wiped the blood from her friend’s muzzle. “Hey girl, thanks for the help. I’ve really missed you.” 

With an excited yelp reminiscent of a massive puppy she rolled onto her back and offered her stomach. 

The two old friends wrestled around in the bottom of the ship, next to a dead body, under the watchful eye of the Dragon Queen, who took in everything with a secret smile. Content for the time being to be exactly where she was.


	7. Chapter 7

After the failed ambush the Queen’s ships arriving in Westeros was relatively anticlimactic. While the camp was constructed Daenerys, Missandei, Arya and Nym walked about speaking quietly. Over their heads Daenerys’s smallest child was paying them a visit, putting fear into the hearts of the whole Seven Kingdoms. 

Shamelessly Daenerys reached for and took Arya’s hand, binding them together. The action seemed to remind Arya that she wasn’t alone, and she spoke. “Welcome home, your Grace,” she said somberly. 

Daenerys was far more interested in the woman at her side, than the lands she’d travelled months to reach. “Same to you, my wolves.” Squeezing Arya’s captured hand she squatted down and rubbed Nym’s neck, earning a grateful huff from the overgrown child. 

Later in her small council meeting Daenerys looked over a map of the world she meant to rule. They were hours from King’s Landing, close enough to make Cersei uncomfortable while not being easily attacked. 

“King’s Landing can withstand a siege for a year!” Jorah reminded the group while they talked strategy. 

Tyrion scoffed behind his wine. “A year? Try five.”

Barristan threw up his hands in exasperation. “We can’t wait five years and according to all our spies very few openly oppose the Queen’s rule, your Grace.”

“Who opposes her,” Daenerys demanded to know. “Perhaps I will take that chest of gold Cersei tried to bribe me with and use it to purchase some aid.”

Arya stood in the rear of the room, watching more than listening, eyes sweeping for danger. She had paid enough attention to hear Daenerys’s plan and the Stark had to admit, she was impressed. For a woman not skilled in the ways of war, her instincts were true; freeing the slaves, giving her soldiers the chance to go, and now using Lannister gold to pay for the swords that will slay the mighty Lion. She felt a wave of pride as she watched the woman set the law. 

“Everyone appears to be afraid of Cersei, and rightfully so. One false step and her wrath could be deadly,” Tyrion said as he read from his notes. “According to this,” he said pointing out a particular line with a chubby finger, “only the Brotherhood Without Banners actively opposes the Queen as they seem to oppose everybody.”

Arya’s ears perked up at the mention. “What is the Brotherhood of Banners?” Daenerys asked. 

Jorah put a hand on Daenerys’s, on the table and gave her an indulgent smile. “The Brotherhood Without Banners Khaleesi, they are soldiers who have given up their rank and now live separately.”

“They are deserters hiding from their troubles in the forest,” Tyrion corrected. 

“Are they good warriors?” she asked Jorah. 

The knight reluctantly nodded and she looked to Tyrion. “Can we find them? If the people see I am here, perhaps they will be less afraid of their Queen and her guards.”

“Khaleesi, please!” Jorah implored. “The Brotherhood left their armies because they no longer wanted to fight for royalty. Not only could we not trust them, they wouldn’t even agree to meet with you.”

Arya stepped up from the back where she’d been silent. “He’s right,” she said surprising the group. “They won’t talk to you Daenerys, but they will talk to me.”

Jorah looked on in disbelief. “You, and why would these men do that?”

She ignored the venom in his voice. “The man in charge of the Brotherhood is Beric, and he happens to owe me a favor, or two. I can’t guarantee that he’ll join us, but I can guarantee he’ll consider it.” 

Up from her seat Daenerys took Arya by the hand and dragged her to the furthest corner of the small tent. Around the table Grey Worm, Missandei and Tyrion all shared knowing glances while the dwarf refilled their glasses. 

“Are you sure of this? These men, are they dangerous?” Daenerys wondered, looking into Arya’s eyes and softening. For a moment she stopped being the Last Dragon or the future Queen and allowed herself to just be Dany, and Dany was worried. 

“It will be fine your Grace, I promise. These men are no more dangerous than I, I assure you.”

With a light laugh Daenerys popped up onto her toes to kiss Arya’s mouth. “At the table, in front of everyone I was Daenerys and now here, whispering and kissing in the shadows I am ‘your Grace.’”

Arya blushed from the tip of her scarred forehead down to the bruised toes hidden in her boots. “It’s the heat Daenerys. Wolves don’t belong this far South.”

With one final fond look and tender kiss Daenerys led her assassin back to the table. When they returned every member of the council seemed inherently focused on something other than them. When she was once again sitting she looked over to where Arya was and met her eye. “I do hope the heat isn’t a problem for you,” she jested, “I do like this place, and I was thinking of staying a while.”

 

R-C

 

Daenerys and Missandei sat in chairs watching the training. It was fast becoming the Queen’s favorite way to relax, sitting with her friend, enjoying some tea or perhaps a little wine and the amazing spectacle that was Arya. She marvelled at the way the fighter seemed to avoid even the most dangerous attempts. How her movements seemed trivial and wasted until the last second when she revealed the blade at her opponent’s throat. 

She’d become very close with the Blood Riders and now that all the ships had made landfall, Arya’s lessons had expanded beyond only those people on the Queen’s ship to the entirety of her army. 

Jorah stood next to the Khaleesi. “Ravens have arrived.”

She glanced away from watching Arya fight two Unsullied only briefly. “And?”

“It’s as we suspected, King’s Landing is locked tight and preparing for the siege. No one has responded to our request for meetings, they are all too scared of the Lannister.”

“Very well, thank you Ser Jorah.”

Noticing where Daenerys’s focus was Jorah took half a step to his right and partially blocked her view. “About the girl.”

“Her name is Arya,” Daenerys reminded with some steel in her voice. 

“Yes, yes, well I was just wondering when you intended to send this Arya back to Braavos where she belongs?”

For the first time Jorah had said something that pulled her focus from Arya. Standing up and facing him directly she crossed her arms over her breasts, letting the breeze off the water send her dress billowing out behind her. “Why Ser Jorah would I do that?”

Missandei stood too, uncomfortable to be sitting while her Queen was standing. “Your Grace maybe…”

With a smile to the worried woman and a wave Daenerys dismissed Missandei’s attempt to defuse the situation. “It’s alright Missandei, why don’t you go see how Grey Worm’s recovering, I heard Arya worked him hard this morning.”

The handmaiden smiled indulgently, a look Daenerys mirrored. “No one was more pleased by this than he, Khaleesi.”

When they were alone Daenerys’s smile vanished. “Do you trust me Ser?”

Stunned by the question he answered anyway. “With my life.”

“Then trust me now. Arya will stay for as long as she wishes to be here, just like you, Grey Worm, Missandei or anyone else.”

“But that’s not entirely true is it,” he said, pushing back. “You purchased the girl in Braavos. You struck a bargain with these people Khaleesi, these assassins, you can not simply change your mind now. If you were told to return her after the voyage then you must,” he advised. 

Fire burned under her skin at his dismissive words, and disrespectful tone. Leaning into his space for a moment, in a move she learned from Arya, she forced Jorah to back up while she glared. Her words were so low they almost vanished on the wind. “I did not buy her,” she spat coldly. “I hired her. She is paid like any other soldier or advisor I employ.”

“And Braavos?”

“The House of Black and White will be compensated for their generosity as well,” she said, barely keeping her ire hidden. “Arya will be free to stay or go. Will that be a problem?”

“Of course not,” he answered, while avoiding her eyes. 

By the time the unpleasant conversation was over the training had stopped. Moving through camp, she searched for the one face in the crowd she wanted to see. 

Disappointment bloomed inside her as was forced to admit she couldn’t find her. The Queen went to her tent, eager to chase reality away for a moment, with a book, a drink or both. Arya must be off with Kovarro or one of the other soldiers, she decided. 

Needing to duck her head slightly to enter the tent, she was at a loss when she straightened up and found a steaming hot bath waiting for her. Next to the tub, waiting was not Missandei as usual, but Arya. Her hair had been trimmed so it was a little shorter, although it still hung uneven on one side, nearly reaching her eye. In addition, she was wearing new clothes, black pants and a crisp white shirt, both of which made her look fabulous. The final thing she noticed was a crystal vase, not unlike the glass Arya used to try and kill the Queen once. This time though the crystal was not only filled with water, but also flowers, an assortment of brightly colored wild flowers. 

Daenerys covered her mouth. “Arya,” she whispered. 

Stepping forward at the mention of her name she smiled. “I hope you don’t mind but Missandei was looking tired so Nym and I decided she should get a break.”

“That’s quite alright,” she said, as she struggled not to laugh. Then another fact settled in her mind and her grin only grew. “Nymeria? She’s here too.”

With a whistle Arya brought the wolf over and Daenerys bent down to greet her friend. “Yes, so Nym and I thought Missandei could use a break, so I offered to help.”

Looking up from where she was kneeling next to a content direwolf Daenerys smiled and licked her lips in a slow, teasing motion that heated Arya from her red cheeks to the pit of her stomach and below. “Is that so?”

Not trusting her voice at all the Stark could manage was a feeble nod. 

Straightening up she stepped around the lying beast and approached both Arya and the waiting bath. “That sounds great,” she said reaching up for the shoulder straps on her dress. With Arya watching she pushed the fabric aside and let the dress puddle around her feet, before she stepped out, cutting the distance between them in half. “I am definitely in the mood for a nice, hot, bath.”

Her mouth dry, Arya swallowed hard and cleared her throat before realizing she was still mute and resorted to another nod. 

Taking a goodhearted pleasure in the Northerners discomfort she climbed the step with a sway of her hips, very aware of the intense eyes watching her every move.   
Settling into the water she let out a sinful moan that had the wolf groaning in an attempt to maintain control. 

Wet from the water she held out a dripping arm and pointed to the assassin turned handmaiden. “New clothes?” she asked conversationally, purposefully teasing the younger woman. “I like them.”

Arya blushed and looked down at the clothes in question. While she’d never admit it, she’d spent far too much time deciding which items to purchase and even longer deciding which to wear. “If I’m going to be standing near a Queen, I can’t allow myself to be seen in rags.”

“Next to me,” she corrected. “You’ll be next to me, not near me Arya Stark.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

The Dragon rolled her eyes at the unnecessary formality. “Those clothes are very nice. We must be careful then.”

“Careful?”

A wicked grin settled on her beautiful face. “Not to get them wet. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to those nice new clothes.” 

Arya was at a loss, and stuttered as she struggled to comprehend. “I…ah… eh…I’m…”

As if she hadn’t noticed Arya’s unease Daenerys continued on. “Did you know Lady Stark that this bath was made big enough for two.”

“T…two?”

“Of course, otherwise my handmaiden wouldn’t fit.”

With her mouth gaping like a fish, she alternated between staring at Daenerys’s wet, naked body and looking anywhere but. 

With a giggle Daenerys pushed further. “Didn’t Missandei tell you. You have to get in the tub with me Arya.” Standing up as if to make room she rewarded the embarrassed killer with a view of her entire body shamelessly. “Otherwise how will you wash my back.”

To punctuate the point Daenerys reached out, grabbed Arya’s shortened hair and pulled her in for a kiss. This kiss was hungry and passionate, tongues battling, teeth clashing, heavy panting on both sides. When they pulled apart Daenerys grinned and cocked her head to the side in challenge. “Are you going to make me ruin those clothes?”

Finding courage Arya tried to sooth her racing heart as her hands moved. She felt foolish as she worked the first button open. How was this possible? She’d never felt so unsure about anything before in all her life, not even as a girl when her mother was still trying to mould her into Sansa. 

Naked Arya felt more than a little self conscious as Daenerys held out a hand in invitation. Climbing in they stood together, Arya wet up to her knees only, while Daenerys continued to drip from everywhere. Arya’s vigilant eyes noticed every single shining drop. 

With another knowing smirk, Daenerys leaned into the Wolf’s space and delivered a gentle kiss. “This will be much easier,” she whispered against the soft lips. “You should really sit,” she suggested as her hands settled on the Stark’s shoulders. With a little pressure Daenerys lowered Arya down and as she sank the assassin scooped Daenerys into her arms before they settled into the warmth with their lips already melded together. 

 

R-C

 

The next morning Arya wrote a note for the Queen, set it on the empty half of the bed and slipped from the tent. The sun was just starting to come up over the Seven Kingdoms when she rode off on horseback, wearing a cloak that matched her eyes. 

As she left a direwolf ran beside her horse. It was a comfortable ride for both, knowing the other was close. After the first five miles Arya reluctantly sent Nym back to the camp with instructions to watch over Daenerys in her absence.

She missed the Dragon Queen already, but Arya had to try and find allies for her, even if that meant forgoing her own vengeance and tolerating Beric and Thoros. They would always be the one’s who betrayed Gendry and she’d always hate them for that, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be useful now. 

After three days of travelling she caught a sign of them and took off. Each step the horse took dragged her closer to her home, while still keeping her so very far from it. 

It was after nightfall when she arrived at the Brotherhood camp. Wearing her own face, she shrugged back the hood and kept her hands away from her sword. “Are you still as good as I remember with that bow Archer?” she asked, looking to the trees where he was sure to be hidden. “I mean you no harm. I’m simply an old friend.”

She thought she was prepared, prepared to see Beric, to see Thoros, to put her hate for them aside for the good of the Queen but she wasn’t ready to see the ghost standing at Beric’s side.

In fact, the Hound was the last person she ever thought she’d see again. 

“Who are you?” the leader demanded to know. 

She looked from the one-eyed man, to the Clegane and back. While Beric was curiously cautious, the Hound stared at her face as if he didn’t trust his eyes. “I was there the night you dueled you,” she said, pointing to each man in turn. She scoffed. “What was that, the sixth time Thoros here brought you back to life?”

“Stark?” Clegane wondered. 

“I see you’re even tougher than I remember,” she said with a tiny smile. For a moment no one moved and both the Hound and the Wolf relived the memory of their last meeting. 

“Why have you come?” Beric asked, getting back on track. 

“I crossed the Narrow Sea with the Dragon Queen,” Arya explained. The looks of surprise were evident on every face, but none more than the Hound’s. Beric invited her to the fire to talk and quickly offered her a drink. 

“We were told that only the Brotherhood is openly opposing the Lannister Queen. Daenerys is looking for allies, so I thought of you.”

Beric was quick to reply. “The Brotherhood doesn’t take sides.”

“The Brotherhood exists to stop the horrors of war, no matter who perpetrates them,” she countered. “My Queen’s men are not cruel, most are eunuchs, incapable of rape and freed slaves who have no desire to harm innocents. The Targaryen has no patience for such things and her justice is both true and swift.

“You’re asking us to fight for her, to alter our beliefs,” Thoros said as the fire began to dwindle, running his fingers through his beard. 

“I ask you to alter nothing. You do what you can to stop the war from harming the smallfolk, and I’m giving you the chance to do exactly that. You can believe what you wish, but consider this, the war is here and the faster its over the better it’ll be for all of us.” When she didn’t get the response she was hoping for she added this final barb. “Would you rather things remain as they are now?”

“A Stark fighting for a Targaryen. Do you truly believe in this Queen that much?”

The answer was immediate and came from the deepest part of her. “I do.”

In the end Beric promised to consider the offer and they parted on good terms. 

When she arrived at her horse she found the Hound sitting on a rock, polishing his sword. “I’ll be there,” he said with his eyes on the steel. “Whatever these idiots decide, I’ll be there to fight beside you.” 

She offered him another tiny smile. “I’ll see you there then.” She mounted her horse and looked straight into his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

He chuckled darkly and turned his head, showing her his long, thin hair and the scar he tried so desperately to cover. “I thought you were dead too.” The awkwardness hung in the air until he asked. “Still got your list of names?”

Arya smiled and moved her hand until it was resting on her sword. “Yep, but it’s a much shorter list these days.”

He grinned at her in that menacing way of his. “Any names left at all? Other than mine?”

She didn’t tell him she’d considered him dead, or that she’d removed his name long before. Instead she just said, “One or two, but hopefully not for very much longer. You know who’ll be there in King’s Landing, near the Queen no doubt?”

Sandor looked down at his weapon again, still shining it. “Oh I know and I’ll be ready.”

“Gods willing.”

 

R-C

 

When she’d woken up alone with nothing but a note and an extremely protective direwolf nearby Daenerys was furious. Regardless of what the note said she considered sending the Unsullied to find her before Missandei provided sage advice and talked her out of it. 

With each passing day Daenerys’s anger dulled and bent in the shape of fear. She left most aspects of governing to Tyrion while she paced about, watching the horizon for the missing killer. “She is strong Khaleesi,” Missandei told her with a supreme confidence on the fifth night. 

Daenerys, who had purposely avoided participating or watching any of the training in Arya’s absence provided an insincere smile. “I know,” she agreed, “but everyone dies, even the strong.” In her mind she pictured the strongest man she’d ever known and how he laid so still and empty, trapped in his own body by the Witch’s magic. 

The handmaiden looked from the Queen to the direwolf who hadn’t left her side in days. She smiled and risked petting the animal gently. “Wild wolves could not separate her from you, your Grace, she wouldn’t allow it.”

As strange as it seemed the woman’s words warmed her heart and eased her suffering. “Come, let’s go find Tyrion,” she suggested. “I believe I’m late for my next lesson in the history of Westerosi politics.”

“Sounds boring, your Grace,” she commented, pleased to see her Queen smiling again. 

“Supremely so,” Daenerys agreed. “Which is why I’ll need you and Nymeria to keep me company. 

 

R-C

 

Returning her horse to the makeshift stable Arya was eager to ensure all was well. She hadn’t addressed it but she’d had any uneasy feeling since the moment she climbed out of Daenerys’s bed. As soon as she was close enough her eyes began searching for white hair in the masses. She found Grey Worm with ease, and heard Missandei in her tent. Jorah was sparring with some of the Unsullied, but their leader was hidden. 

Silent, in case she was sleeping she entered Daenerys’s tent. “Your Grace?” she asked ducking her head to enter. 

The response came but not in the direction she was expecting. The Targaryen answered from behind. She turned and found an angry Dragon standing before her flanked by a direwolf who didn’t look the least bit happy to see her either. “So you decided to return.”

“Of course, as my note said…”

“I don’t care about your note!” she shouted, bringing attention from all around them. Her expression remained hard, but her eyes softened. “I can’t decide if I should have you fed to the dragons or if I should drag you into my tent and kiss you.”

The loyal Stark bowed her head. “Whatever you choose, your Grace.”

For a time, nobody moved, everyone watching, awaiting the decision. When someone finally did risk it, it was Jorah and Tyrion. 

Surprised by the lack of protest, she gave the Northerner a quizzical look. “You aren’t going to defend your actions?”

It was quiet for a moment, Arya’s lips moving quickly with no sound coming out. When she did speak, she did so without looking up. “My actions have no defence Daenerys. I left without your permission. If you feel my sins warrant my death then so be it, you are Queen Daenerys Targaryen.”

A soft hand, warm from an unseen flame touched Arya’s cheek, moving up to the scar that marked her face. “You think I’m upset you left?” 

Finally, grey eyes met violet. “You aren’t?”

“I wish you’d told me what you intended to do, and you could have taken some troops with you, but I’m not upset you left Arya, I’m upset you could have been hurt. You didn’t even take Nymeria with you.”

With a shy smile Arya decided to take a chance and reached for Nym. The wolf, picking up on the moods around her didn’t object but was still visibly tense. 

“So you’ve returned,” Jorah said, happy to interrupt the private moment. “And without the Brotherhood I see.”

Arya didn’t answer until Tyrion’s shorter legs had caught up. “I spoke to Beric, the leader of the Brotherhood, he knew m…” she stopped short of revealing her identity to Mormont. “Beric was an honest soldier once, he will at least consider the proposal.”

“So you brought back nothing!”

“Ser Jorah!” Daenerys reprimanded sharply. 

A hand on the small of her back, told the Queen the defence wasn’t required. She looked past Jorah to the dwarf. “Ran into the Hound on my journey, he’ll be with us when the time comes.”

“You saw the Hound?” the Lannister asked in quiet disbelief. 

“I thought you said he was dead,” Daenerys wondered. 

“I left him bloodied and near death before I went to Braavos,” she recalled with a grim expression. “I expected him to die, but apparently he’s tougher than I realized.”

“He’ll be a helpful ally,” Tyrion noted. 

Jorah had heard enough. “How long have you been gone?” he asked suddenly, yelling loud enough to startle Missandei. “A few days back in the Seven Kingdoms and you think you can find allies and strike bargains. How long were you hiding in Braavos? You didn’t take the gold with you, so how can you possibly convince sell-swords to fight for free?”

Arya was undeterred. Standing straight she stepped away from Daenerys. “I was away from Westeros far less than you Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island.”

He tensed at mention of his former life. “These men have their own way Khaleesi. Even if she is truly from the North, she can’t simply return and expect they will follow her. Loyalties can shift. These men are deserters who can’t be trusted.”

With ice in her veins Arya refused to back down. “I am from the North,” she insisted, “as are you, or you were before Lord Stark ordered you executed.”

Eager to end the conflict Tyrion took Arya’s hand and pulled her down to his level. “Killer, a question if you please.” She bent down, while keeping her unblinking eyes on Jorah. “The Hound, I was just wondering, that horrific scar of his, is it still as grotesque as I remember?”

The women chuckled and Tyrion bowed for his efforts in entertainment. “Can we trust this Hound?” Daenerys wondered. “He did kidnap you once and tried to ransom you off…” she stopped looking to Arya to provide the number. 

“Twice,” she said honestly, “but that’s water under the bridge.”

“The Cleganes are loyal to the Lannisters,” Jorah reminded them all. “Inviting him into our camp will bring you nothing but a sword in your back Khaleesi. Why would he fight without gold?”

“Because I offered him the one thing he wants more than gold.”

Tyrion’s face lit up in understanding but Daenerys was faster. “And what is that? What did you promise him?”

“The chance to kill his brother,” she explained darkly. 

Tyrion clapped. “Oh goody a Clegane family reunion. No war in Westeros is complete without one.”

Satisfied that the details had been discussed Daenerys grabbed Arya’s hand and tugged. When she looked to her Queen for clarification the Dragon provided only a playful smile. “Come on,” she urged. “I’ve decided which of your two punishments I’d like to implement. 

“Valar Morghulis Daenerys,” she said with a wink. “Can I expect to survive this trip to your tent?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”


	8. Chapter 8

Two ravens arrived while the council was gathered around a map in the tent that was acting as their chamber. An aide brought Tyrion the tiny scrolls and left before the first was even open. 

“The gates are sealed how can we get in?” Grey Worm was asking.

“We can’t,” Jorah answered. “Our only chance is to use the dragons to weaken the defences and then sack the city in the chaos.”

“And how many lives would such action take?” Daenerys demanded to know. “How many innocents would die in a battle like that?”

At the opposite end of the table Tyrion dropped the first scroll to the table and immediately went to work on the second. His head snapped up and he looked to Daenerys and then to Arya, who was standing behind her, as always, on guard. 

“Is there a problem Lord Tyrion?”

“T…two ravens your Grace, they bring news.”

“One is for the killer, from Braavos,” he said holding out the small page. 

She took it but made no attempt to read it. “And the other Tyrion?” Daenerys urged when the information wasn’t forthcoming. 

Again the Hand looked to the confessed assassin. “Its Sansa,” he said in a quiet voice. “The second raven is regarding Sansa Stark.”

The paper she held forgotten Arya was once again next to the dwarf’s chair. “What of Sansa Stark?” Daenerys asked so that Arya wouldn’t have to. 

“According to this report Sansa is alive.” Arya released a breath she’d been holding but knew the remainder of the news wouldn’t be good. “Roose Bolton’s bastard Ramsay has been holding her in Winterfell.” He gave Arya another pitifully sad look. “Apparently there is to be a wedding.”

Rage billowed inside her and before she could stop it, she grabbed the nearest object, a jug of wine and threw it against the tent wall, staining the thick hide. 

Daenerys stood from her seat, conflicted between calming Arya and controlling the room. “How is such a thing possible Tyrion? Are you not still married to Sansa Stark?”

Eyes flickering between the one who asked the question and the one who might kill him for his answer, Tyrion swallowed hard and told the truth. “Our marriage was quickly annulled your Grace, after Joffery’s death and my arrest that is.”

Arya’s hard look not withstanding Tyrion and Daenerys continued their conversation. “So she can marry this Ramsay then?”

“She could,” he agreed. 

“Winterfell is days away from here. Why do we care?” Jorah questioned with force. “Once you have your throne you can choose any Warden of the North you want. One war at a time Khaleesi.”

A long pause gave Tyrion the chance to go in search of more wine. When he brought the smaller, less impressive vintage to the table and sat back down, he filled up his glass and offered the Stark a drink. She declined with a shake of her head. 

“Is he not already Warden of the North?” Daenerys quizzed. When Tyrion confirmed that he was, she sought to understand. “So if he already has the power and title what does he gain from this marriage?” Daenerys knew enough about politically motivated marriages to know that he wouldn’t bother with it unless it improved his station drastically. 

“Damn, my sister is even more devious than I thought,” Tyrion said with a bitter laugh. 

“Your sister?”

“If I had to venture a guess your Grace, I’d say that this marriage is my sister’s doing.”

“To what end? She’s already the Queen, why go to the trouble?”

“Because in addition to being devious Cersei is nothing if not clever. She knows that naming a Bolton bastard Warden of the North doesn’t make it so. As your associates can tell you Daenerys the Northerners have very long memories. As long as a Stark lives, any Stark, she will always have a claim on Winterfell and all of the North by extension.”

Two sets of eyes, the two who knew her truth turned to Arya. Daenerys’s worried eyes struck to her heart but she hid her emotions behind a wall and focused on the conversation around her. 

“If Sansa Stark is alive and the last member of her family, why would he marry her? Why not kill her and end the threat forever?” Barristan questioned. 

“Ramsay Bolton or Ramsay Snow, whoever he is, he’s no fool. Legitimized or not he’ll always be a bastard in the eyes of the Northmen. If he kills Sansa, he’ll end the threat yes, but if he marries her he’ll have bonded his life to the heir to Winterfell, a true-blooded Stark. Then the North would have no choice but to follow him. His sons could rule after him for centuries and my sister would have peace in the North.”

R-C

The moment they were dismissed Arya called an order at Nymeria and ran off. It was hours before the Queen found her back on the sea, in the room that had once been hers. 

She stopped just inside the door, even though she was confident Arya had heard her coming. “I’d ask how you are, but I already know the answer.” She slipped into the room with Nym on her heels. 

“Sansa’s been through so much already,” she said, sitting on the bed, with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“No one deserves this,” Daenerys agreed as she moved closer. “If you’d like to ride for Winterfell I’ll give you the fastest horses and some of Grey Worm’s best Unsullied.”

She sounded more like her pet than human as she whimpered in reply. “Do you know I used to hate Sansa so much, when we were girls.”

“Did you?” Daenerys prodded gently, eager to hear any piece of Arya’s past she wanted to share. 

“Everyone compared me to her. She was such a perfect lady while I was not. All I wanted was to be out training with my brothers, not sewing and picking pretty dresses.” She shook her head and looked down at her hands with a humorless laugh. “She’s so beautiful,” Arya remembered. “She always knew exactly the right thing to say, and do, she was kind, truly kind. You’d like her, your Grace, she’d know how to act around a Queen.”

She set her hand on Arya’s nearest knee. “That doesn’t sound like hate at all.”

She laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling above her, swaying side to side in the gentle water. “We were just so different, we had little in common and have even less now that our family is dead. But still, I thought of her everyday and I’ll protect her if I can.”

“You can. Leave for Winterfell any time you wish. I’ll even come with you if you want. Surely this Ramsay will see the benefit to bartering with the future queen.”

Arya shook her head sharply. “No, no, this army needs you here, you need to be seen.”

“And you? Are you going to go?”

“My allegiance is to you Daenerys. I will go to Winterfell, and I will help Sansa if she needs it, but not now.”

“I’d be fine, you know.”

Arya surprised her by pulling Daenerys into a hug and then a desperate kiss. When their tongues were done fighting Arya pulled back only far enough to bite down on Daenerys’s bottom lip. “It’s not you I’m worried about, its me.”

After another hungry kiss Daenerys managed a response, through panted breathes. “You?”

“It’s true,” she admitted as she kissed along Daenerys’s jaw, up to her ear and then down to her neck. “I was gone from you for days last time and they felt like years, if I were gone for months, or if the Lannisters attacked while I was gone. If something happened to you… I couldn’t handle that, so I’ll stay.”

Daenerys rolled them over so Arya was on the bottom. Sitting back on her heels she removed her dress before she rolled her hips as she’d been taught long ago. Daenerys lowered her mouth to Arya’s and the two shared a heated kiss while frantic hands got to work removing any item of clothing they could reach. “You should definitely stay,” the Queen decided when they were both naked. “Stay very close.”

In an instant. Arya had things reversed, leaving Daenerys pinned to the bed under the wolf-girl. “Anything you say, my Queen,” she teased before their lips met for another needy kiss. 

R-C

 

In the early morning hours, she woke to find Daenerys standing at the table overlooking a map of Westeros while she muttered to herself. 

Silent as she could she climbed out of bed, and crept up to get a peek. Daenerys with her hair wild and an open silver robe her only clothing looked incredibly beautiful as she moved the armies around the map in search of the best strategy. 

“Three fucking dragons and I can’t take a city without killing thousands of innocent people.” She brushed a block roughly to the side, sending it off the table all together. 

Although she could have caught the victim block she didn’t even consider it, choosing instead to put her hands to better use. From behind she reached out and wrapped the Queen in a hug. “I hope that block wasn’t representative of me.”

They laughed together and Arya felt better about everything. These moments were her favorite, times when she wasn’t with the Queen, who always had to be so formal and tense but with Daenerys who could smile, laugh, joke and dream. The most empowering part for the assassin was the knowledge that this was a Daenerys that no one else got to see. She was totally hers. 

“I can’t get our people past the gate. Sure the dragons could burn it down but how long would that take? How many lives would be lost running for the hole once its open? How many innocent people will burn or get crushed in the aftermath?”

They shared a brief kiss. “Jorah said I can’t win the war without innocent people being hurt, but how can I do that? How can I lead people after I killed so many of them recklessly? They’d hate me, and rightfully so. I’d need fear and the dragons to keep them under control after that. I don’t want to be that kind of ruler.”

“Jorah’s an idiot!” she declared with confidence, earning her a stern glare and a playful slap from the Khaleesi. Laughing Arya added to her point. “You’re the Queen Daenerys, you’re the one these men and women respect, you’re the one they choose to follow, you’re the one they love, not him, not Grey Worm or Missandei or me, you. If you don’t want to breach the gate or the wall, then we won’t because you’re the Queen and not anyone else.”

Forgetting the map, Daenerys’s arms settled around Arya’s waist before reaching down to her firm ass. In the midst of another kiss Arya lifted the tiny woman off the ground. Daenerys’s legs snaked around her body and her arms circled her neck as their kisses grew more frantic. 

Originally intending to carry Daenerys back to bed the Wolf decided that was too far, opting for the table instead. With one arm she cleared the map of all the wooden blocks, letting them rain down to the floor in all directions before she laid Daenerys on her back and opened her robe more completely. 

As she took her place above Daenerys their eyes met. “Now this is a strategy session I could get used to,” she teased as Arya’s mouth sank toward her waiting breast. “Just before she captured the Queen’s nipple with her mouth Daenerys asked a random question. “You know Stark, someone’s going to have to clean up the mess you made, you know that right?”

Looking up, with a devious expression that surely foretold mischief, Arya winked and dropped a kiss on Daenerys’s breast. “If I were the Queen,” she said, “I’d make the dwarf clean it up. He’s already so close to the floor.”

Daenerys laughed at the joke and slapped the naked killer in punishment while claiming she was mean with no shortage of mirth in her words. “Oh that was cruel.”

With a kiss they both forget about the outside world and all the many people in it. For a few hours they both basked in the joy they found together, the comfort and the peace. 

R-C

 

The time had come for Daenerys to make a choice. For days she’d been fretting over this decision every waking moment, discussing the merits of each plan with people whose opinions she trusted. Every day that passed without a decision made everyone more and more nervous.

Tyrion and Daenerys wanted to minimize the damage while Barristan and Jorah were all for using the dragons to maximum effect. 

When she grew tired of the arguing Arya stepped forward. “I can get in,” she declared simply. “If I were able to get inside, I could open the gate and clear away any opposition for your advance,” she offered. 

“And how are you going to do that?” Jorah asked, his words dripping with contempt. 

“I’ll get in this time, the same way I got out last time. I’ll wear one of the faces I was given and open the gate. Once you’re inside it’ll be much easier to minimize the damages.”

“What of the smallfolk?” Barristan wondered. 

With light in her eyes Arya turned to Daenerys. “Do you think you could get the dragons flying?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Because people in the Seven Kingdoms have only heard rumors and ancient lore about dragons, they’ve never seen one up close, or heard it scream as it’s passing overhead.”

“They’d be scared and rightly so,” Missandei noted. 

Arya nodded and smiled at the woman who had gone from being a slave to being one of the most important advisors to the most powerful woman in the world. 

“Yes,” Tyrion agreed, “once people see a dragon flying overhead, they’ll surely hide, and stay inside. This would certainly limit the number of innocents harmed during the battle.”

“Are you certain?”

“Your Grace, I can’t promise that no innocent will be harmed, but if we do as the killer says and use the dragons to scare the people away, they surely won’t decide to come out once the fighting starts in earnest.”

“It is decided then, Grey Worm will lead the Unsullied into position and wait for Arya to open the gate from the inside.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Jorah wondered. 

“She will,” Daenerys declared as though it had already been decided. 

R-C

 

The next afternoon the Hound arrived at the camp and he wasn’t travelling alone. Arya went to meet them with Jorah and Barrister in step behind. The old soldiers were all familiar with one another so it quickly reverted into a trip down memory lane. In the tent Daenerys had prepared for guests she sat next to the Hound, leaving space for Daenerys on the other side. When Tyrion walked in, Arya knew Daenerys wouldn’t be far behind. 

With his mouth full of the food provided the Hound nearly spit it all over himself at the sight of the dwarf. “A Lannister in the Dragon’s nest. Girl, please tell me you sleep with one eye open with this one about.”

She scoffed at the insinuation that Tyrion had ever been anywhere near her bed. “I always sleep with one eye open, regardless of who’s around. I believe it was you who taught me that.”

A strong, regal voice reached them before the accompanying body. “You know,” she said, clearly amused, “that hasn’t been my particular experience with you when you sleep.”

All eyes turned to Daenerys and both Arya and Sandor stood. “Sandor Clegane, this is Khaleesi Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of Meereen and the Mother of Dragons.”

After introductions were made Daenerys took her seat next to Arya and as was quickly coming custom, she dropped a kiss on her lover’s cheek in greeting. Arya blushed at the snickering laughter, but tried to push past it. Daenerys was worth it. 

When the room was calm Daenerys spoke to the Hound. “I understand from Arya that you are willing to fight for me as we take King’s Landing. Is this true?’

“Aye, I’ll fight.”

“Why would you do that?” Daenerys needed to know. “Why come and fight for a stranger?”

He reached out and put a big, thick arm across Arya’s much smaller shoulders. “This one can be persuasive, Queen.”

“Lies,” Arya countered through a laugh. “You probably just haven’t killed anyone this week. What’s wrong? Afraid your blade is going to dull if you don’t run it through someone soon?”

“Haven’t killed anyone today… yet.”

She looked up at the sun to measure the time and then stood. Leaning down she set a kiss into the top of Daenerys’s head before she mocked him. “it’s still early, don’t give up.”

Beric entered just as Arya left, bringing Thoros, Anguy, Mormont and Barristan with him. “That girl’s got a heart of steel, your Grace.”

With a fond smile Daenerys agreed. “Yes she truly does. Thank you for coming to join us.”

“The girl made a good point, the sooner the war is over, the better it’ll be for all. She also claims that your men don’t rape or murder without cause.”

“I don’t stand for such things. Anyone who knowingly harms an innocent will be killed, regardless of what side he’s on.”

In the midst of general conversation, they watched Arya and her wolf walk in front of the tent for the third time in an hour. “I can still remember that night you know,” Beric said to the Hound from behind his glass. “The night of your trial by combat. You asked if it would be Thoros or Anguy who would fight you. And then you asked about Arya and I’ll tell you, she was only a girl then, far too young and yet it was there in her eyes, she wanted me to choose her.”

“That wasn’t the only time she wanted me dead,” Clegane confessed with a short laugh. 

Daenerys hung on every word about Arya’s youth, riveted by the tale. 

Thoros continued the story. “So much rage, so many reasons to hate, combined with what came after I thought surely the girl was as dead as her father. As changed as she is, I’m glad to be wrong.”

“Who was her father?’ Jorah asked, sensing he was missing information the others all had. 

“You don’t know? That’s Ned Stark’s youngest girl. She’s been on the run since the day they took her daddy’s head.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “That’s hardly a life for a child, any child.”

Listening in silence Daenerys felt she was beginning to get a better sense of who her lover truly was, and why. She could listen to these stories all night. 

 

R-C

 

The night before the planned invasion and there was an energy stirring in the air, everyone could feel it, regardless of station or blood. Daenerys’s dragons were regularly taking low flights over King’s Landing, urging the smallfolk to stay indoors. 

While Daenerys was engaged in a conversation with Missandei and Jorah, Arya slipped away to see Tyrion. She found him preparing his armor for the next day. “Killer please tell me you aren’t here to end my life I know for certain I’m not supposed to die until tomorrow.”

She felt a smile on her face. “The Many Faced God has no claim on you tonight dwarf, rest peacefully.”

“Well that’s reassuring. I have plans this evening I would have been loathe to miss and I think my companion would have been disappointed too.” His wide boyish grin made his intentions clear. “Shouldn’t you be guarding our beloved Queen?”

“Nymeria’s with her,” she stated confidently. 

“Oh yes, your beast. I remember during my visit to Winterfell watching you and your siblings training those damn things. I thought one of you would have been eaten by now for sure. First dragons now direwolves, what’s this world coming to?”

“Just be grateful she’s on our side.”

He raised a glass of wine. “I am killer, I sincerely am.”

While he was preparing Arya’s drink she asked him. “Ready for tomorrow?”

His expression turned sombre. “By this time tomorrow the Seven Kingdoms will have a new Queen.”

“And what of the old one?”

“My sister will not leave her seat willingly,” he predicted, taking a large pull from his wine as he handed Arya hers. “If she were willing to surrender, perhaps I’d feel differently but she is not capable of such acts so it can only end one way.”

“And your brother?”

“Jamie’s fate depends on Jamie,” Tyrion said simply. “He may have lost a hand, but he still has eyes. He’s seen the death of his children, and witnessed the madness of the woman he loves. If he’s smart he’ll be miles away from my sister when we arrive.”

“If he isn’t?”

“My brother saved my life,” he informed quietly. “I hold no ill-will toward Jamie but if he stands between Cersei and you when you come for her, he will make you kill him.”

Arya finished her wine and offered the Lannister a nod. “Get some rest,” she suggested. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day for all of us.”

“Long and bloody.”

From outside she put her head back in the tent. “Stay near Kovarro, Missandei and Nymeria and tomorrow will not be your last day, Lord Tyrion.”

 

R-C

 

When she found Missandei taking a walk on the shore the handmaiden was surprised to see her. “Are you not with the Queen? She was looking for you.”

Ignoring the question, she looked at the dark-skinned woman. “Are you going into King’s Landing tomorrow?”

“My place is next to the Khaleesi,” she stated with confidence. “If she goes, so will I.”

“You can stay behind,” Arya offered. “I swear to the Many Faced God I will not let Daenerys come to harm. I shall protect her tomorrow you needn’t put yourself at risk.”

“You think I shouldn’t go?” she asked, sounding slightly offended, but hiding it well. 

“Daenerys needs you Missandei, more than anyone else she’ll need you when she’s ruling Westeros.”

“You must see,” she countered, “that the Khaleesi needs you most of all.”

Sensing she wasn’t going to be able to sway her mind she bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Stay safe Missandei and thank you for taking such good care of Daenerys.”

 

R-C

 

It was late when she entered Daenerys’s tent. She expected the Khaleesi to be sleeping, or perhaps studying her maps and battle plans but what she found was Daenerys sitting up in bed as if she’d been awaiting precisely this moment. 

“You should be resting,” she whispered as she moved closer. 

“Seems I’ve gotten used to not sleeping alone. I couldn’t settle without you.”

She bowed her head. “Apologies…”

Daenerys waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense, now come here I have a present for you.”

“F…for me?” she asked, uncomfortable with the idea. 

From the floor beside the bed she presented a large package, wrapped in brown paper. “I had it made just for you,” she explained, “using the finest smiths on our side of the walls.”

“Your Grace, this is unnecessary and far too kind,” she said breaking the words apart as unnatural spots in her anxiety. 

Holding the bundle out Daenerys smiled, the way she only did with Arya. She looked as if she was the one receiving an unexpected present. After gentle prodding she took the package and tore away at the paper, trying to remember the last time she’d been given a gift. She thought of Needle and smiled. 

Her fingers getting through the paper brought her out of her memories and she felt the fine leather against her skin. Looking down into her lap and then up into Daenerys’s eyes she was speechless. In front of her was some of the finest leather armour she’d ever seen, decorated with intricate pictures burned into the hide. On one side she noticed a wolf, on the other a dragon. Turning it over she saw the back had an image of the Titan of Braavos with the doors to the House of Black and White underneath. It was phenomenally detailed and beyond impressive.

“Dany,” she said, using the nickname rarely uttered. “It’s perfect.”

The regal, unshakable Queen blushed. “Well you said that plate armor would only slow you, so I asked Tyrion who was the best smith in the area and he aided me in having this made for my knight.”

Arya’s eyes shot up from the armor she was admiring. “Your Grace, I am the daughter of traitors and an assassin in service to a God. I cannot be your knight no matter how badly I wish it.”

Leaning forward she took the armor from her lover and traded it for a kiss. “You appeared in my life just in time to save me. You continued to save me even after it was no longer your duty and you have followed me across the sea. If anyone in my service has earned the title, it is you Arya Stark.”

“Daenerys,” she whispered, pleading not to push. 

“Fine, but you should know, its actions and not labels that make one a knight. Your deeds will not be forgotten, regardless of what name we use.”

With a growl of passion Arya grabbed her lover in her arms and pinned her down on the bed. Hovering over her mouth she inched lower and lower, eating up the space between them. “Is that all I am to you then, your Grace? Another sword?” Even as she asked, her hand reached under the covers, finding nothing but warm flesh waiting for her.

Daenerys purred in a pleasure and opened her legs for Arya. “You’re not just a soldier?” she panted as her nails raked down the scarred back. Arya’s skilled fingers made the words come out more like a question than she intended. 

Arya who was kissing her Queen, shook her head, pulling Daenerys’s bottom lip along with her. “No,” she answered, before she deepened the kiss, using her tongue to sway the Targaryen. 

Without warning Daenerys bit her lover’s tongue and waited until she pulled away, reaching for her mouth to check for blood. “If you’re not just another soldier,” she commanded in a sultry voice, “then prove it!”

Arya needed no further encouragement. With a growl that could rival Nymeria she lunged back at Daenerys and pinned her to the mattress with her whole body. She felt legs slither around her waist while Arya’s teeth dug into the side of Daenerys’s neck.


	9. Chapter 9

The morning of the invasion she woke early and moved silently so Daenerys could continue resting. She got dressed quickly, slipping into the armor Daenerys commissioned for her. Her finger traced the dragon over her heart as she watched the Last Dragon sleep. Later she would add the Black of the Night’s Watch, to allow her access to the closed city. She thought of Jon as she packed up the dark robes. Wearing the face of a soldier she would waltz right up to the gate and get in. Then all she’d have to do was make the Many Faced God an offering and open the gate for Grey Worm and the rest.

It was a simple plan that was genius in its simplicity. While the guards of King’s Landing watched the sky, and feared the dragons Arya’d help the Unsullied slip right in under their noses. 

She was nearly ready to go, attaching the last of her hidden blades when there was a grunt and the distinct sound of a queen awakening. “You weren’t planning on leaving without saying goodbye were you?” she joked, sitting up in bed, exposing her breasts and the marks Arya had left on them the night before. 

“Of course not, your Grace.”

Daenerys laughed, a light hearted care-free laugh that temporarily allowed her to forget all about the upcoming day. “Surely after last night, and then again early this morning you don’t still feel it’s necessary to be formal.”

Instead of blushing as she usually did when this topic was discussed Arya stood tall and looked proud. Bending down she kissed her waking Queen. “Actually your Grace, I felt that given how enjoyable last night was, I should honor you with your titles, and a few new ones you surely earned.”

Laughing even harder Daenerys grabbed her lover by the front of her expensive armor and pulled her down to the bed for a more proper kiss. 

“If you keep this up Daenerys we’ll miss the invasion,” Arya grumbled half heartedly, while Daenerys’s hand slithered under her armor. 

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” she teased, sucking gently on the Wolf’s neck. “I’m Queen, they’d surely move the battle on my behalf wouldn’t they?”

Arya chuckled, which only served to multiply the shivers rocking her body under Daenerys’s skilled touch. She pulled away while she still had the restraint to do so. “You’ve waited long enough already for this Daenerys. Today is your day.”

With her gorgeous eyes alight with humor the Queen swung her feet over the side of the bed, whining as she went. “Later then?”

“Definitely later,” Arya pledged before her lips met the Queen’s one last time. 

R-C

 

Riding on horseback in front of the gathered army, wearing armor made just for her, she had to wonder if this is how Robb felt, leading his army, or if Jon felt similar on the Wall. She’d always been told such things were not possible for her, but then again she’d also been told that dragons were extinct and all Targaryen were evil. 

As the troops gathered Arya sought out Kovarro. They’d become close friends since the day she saved his life and she trusted him, not only with her life but with that of Daenerys and Missandei who were far more important than her. 

Kovarro smiled when he saw her and showed her the sharp edge of his blade. She complimented him on his killing tool and then got to the heart of things. She tasked Kovarro with guarding those most important, the Queen, Missandei and Tyrion. Before they parted, she wished him well. 

Daenerys appeared from her tent causing the whole army, Arya included to kneel. Wearing brown leather pants and a white shirt that started just above her breasts and ended just below, she looked stunning. Traditional Dothraki leather completed the outfit and Missandei had braided her hair elegantly, keeping it both presentable and functional. 

Daenerys stood next to Arya and drew her sword. “Are you certain about this plan?” the Queen asked, sounding unusually nervous. “I do not wish any harm to come to you.”

“I will be fine, Daenerys, I swear it.” 

The seriousness of the pledge seemed to ease some of her worry while creating others. “What if I was wrong to bring all these people here? What if they all die because of me?” With wide eyes she grabbed both of Arya’s hands, dropping her sword carelessly in the process. “Are you sure we can do this.”

She bent slightly so their eyes were level. “You can do this Daenerys, these people love you, they fight for you.”

“They could all die because of me too.”

“Valar Morghulis Dany, death comes for us all but a wise man once told me that to death we can only say one thing… not today.”

“Not today,” Daenerys repeated back while Missandei grinned from the background. Silent the slave turned handmaiden turned advisor took joy from the way Daenerys could show her vulnerability and weakness and how Arya could strengthen her with a few whispered words.

Later when all of her advisors stood around her, she knew it was time. “We can begin when you’re ready Khaleesi,” Jorah told her.

“She needs to address the army first, they are waiting,” Barristan added. 

“I’ve never led a battle before,” she said, looking from Jorah to Barristan to Arya. “I’m not sure what to say to them. How can I possibly motivate them?”

Arya took her hand and squeezed. “Its as I said, they are here for you. Remind them why.”

“You do it,” Daenerys implored suddenly, surprising them all. 

Arya thought about telling her nervous Queen that she had been in exactly as many battles as Daenerys and had led just as many armies, but she couldn’t. She was bound to the Dragon and couldn’t refuse her. 

R-C

 

Riding past the group of Dothraki she jumped from her horse and drew her sword before them. Speaking to them in harsh, but improving Dothraki she sparked their thirst for death. “Cowards hide behind those walls,” she told them. “Cowards who wish to harm the Khaleesi.” The barbarians yelled in anger in response to these words, stomping their feet and shaking the ground around them. “Today we fight for the Khal Who Rides the Sky, for the Stallion Who Would Mount the World and the Khaleesi who saved us all.” Another roar rose up from the crowd but Arya wasn’t done. “Fight!” she yelled, raising her sword high in the air. “Fight with honor, defend your Khaleesi and the Horse Lord and the Mighty Khal will honor you in the Nightlands.”

As she climbed onto her horse and headed to Grey Worm’s Unsullied she passed Daenerys who was watching her with an odd expression, as she wiped something from the corner of her eye. This time she stayed on her horse and spoke to the sea of identical soldiers. “Once,” she said, speaking in their language, just as she’d done for the Dothraki. Her Valyrian was a work in progress, so Missandei stepped up to aid her as required. “Once,” she repeated, “you were slaves. Then our Queen released you, she gave you back your freedom, she returned to you your lives and you all chose to stay, to stay and fight for her. I thank you for that choice, for your help, and your friendship.” After whispering to Missandei for a translation she finished. “I would gladly give my life for any of you,” she said, ignoring the gasps her words induced from a royal onlooker. “When those gates open, bring death and show the cowards of the world what it means to believe in your Queen. If we must die today,” she told them, “all I ask is that we don’t go meet my God alone!”

With another roar the army banged their spears on the ground. Someone nearby started the chant of her name, so before long calls of ‘Arya’ could be heard from one side of the camp to the other. 

The sell-swords were the last group to address. Arya rode to them and stopped her horse. They would be the hardest to motivate, their loyalty bought and sold. “Today is your day,” she said confidently. “Whatever you wish to find, it is there, waiting for you inside King’s Landing. Whether you wish gold, fame, or glory, it is all there. The heroes of today will be talked about for thousands of years, stories will be written, songs will be sung and gold will be spent. The road to all your dreams passes through King’s Landing boys, so good luck one and all and once the Dragon sits on her throne may you all find what you seek.”

The Hound approached her, in full armor as she jumped from her horse. “Don’t remember you giving too many rousing pep-talks when we were on the road together.”

“That’s because I didn’t.”

“Why’s today different?” he asked as Arya put on the black clothing over her armor. 

“Today I had a reason,” Arya answered, looking over his shoulder to Daenerys.

Looking behind him as well Sandor laughed darkly. “Have you told her yet girl?”

“Told who what?” she challenged. 

“Don’t be slow, have you told her you love her yet?”

Arya felt her heart double speed in her chest. Her rough hands began to sweat and her face felt as though it was as burned as the Hound’s. “I… uh…”

He laughed. “Don’t be foolish,” he told her, learning all he needed to from her hesitation. “You could get a sword in the gullet today, or an arrow in the eye. So could she,” he maintained, pointing to the Khaleesi. “If something happens you’ll never forgive yourself for not telling her, so do it now, while you have the chance.”

R-C

 

With Clegane’s words echoing in her head she marched through the camp, talking briefly with Grey Worm and Kovarro about their parts in the invasion, but even as she spoke her eyes were searching for Daenerys. 

She found her on her white horse, Nymeria at her side. Missandei who sat on a white horse of her own rode slightly behind the Queen. 

Before she could reach them her path was blocked by Jorah Mormont. Without speaking she tried to side step him, only to see he mimicked her and continued to block her path. “May I help you?”

“I know who you are!” he said with fire in his voice. “The Stark’s dead daughter, well I don’t know why you’re here or what your agenda is but I will not allow you to hurt Daenerys.”

“I’m here to serve the rightful Queen, same as you Ser Jorah.”

“Your father was Robert’s right hand during the Rebellion. He was there the night her ancestors died. Should I really believe your motives pure?”

Normally Jorah’s words rolled off her like raindrops. He’d never liked her and Arya was fine with that, but for some reason at the mention of her father she saw red. Her hands shifted toward her weapon and her mind conjured up dozens of ways to end his life painfully. 

“Know this assassin,” he told her after a stretch of silence. “Whatever you try, I’ll be there to stop you and then to exact the Queen’s justice for your crimes.”

Lashing out her right hand struck Jorah in the ribs. He bent over to protect himself and she took hold of his throat, squeezing tightly while the dagger she received from Kovarro rested against his neck, the tip already drawing blood. “Think what you will,” she said in a low, deadly voice, “but question my loyalty to Daenerys again and I’ll take your tongue.”

While the rest watched, Tyrion and Daenerys hurried toward the altercation. 

“You must teach me how you inspire such devotion in beautiful women, your Grace, I’d truly love to learn!” Daenerys ignored his comment and took Arya by the arm. 

As she led the furious killer away from the group she stopped abruptly and lifted up to kiss her. “I’m sorry Arya.”

“Sorry? I just held a knife to your friend’s throat, I should be apologizing to you.”

She took the younger girl’s hand and held it in both of hers. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before,” she joked. “Jorah’s anger has little to do with you and far more to do with me.”

Arya nodded. “I know,” she confirmed quietly. “He loves you.”

Daenerys looked away. “Yes he does. I harmed him with Darrio, but I think he knew it was harmless. He is more threatened by you I suspect.”

Recalling her conversation with the Hound she ventured into questionable territory. “How so?”

She tightened her hold on the killer’s hand. “Ser Jorah has been with me a long time, so he can surely see the change in me, the one brought on by your arrival.”

“You changed?” Arya asked, closing her eyes as the Queen’s soft finger rolled around the back of her hand, drawing invisible pictures. 

Daenerys nodded although Arya wasn’t looking at her to see it. “I did,” she confirmed after a moment. “Love has a way of shifting one’s perspective.”

Love, the word rattled around in her mind like a feral beast trying to break free. Her eyes snapped open and her mouth followed although no words came out. 

With his unparalleled sense of timing Tyrion chose that moment to interrupt. “Pardon your Grace, but if the Stark is going to enter the city, she’ll need to do it soon. It’s already midday.”

“Y…yes,” she stumbled before she recovered. “Thank you Tyrion, we’ll be right there.”

By the time she looked back to the Northern girl Arya had already mounted her horse and was adjusting her black robe on her shoulders. With a whistle she called for her wolf and Nym appeared with two from her pack. “Stay with Daenerys girl, keep her safe.”

The wolf barked a reply and Daenerys squatted down to greet the fearsome puppy. The sound of Arya’s horse moving drew her eyes up. She found the horse directly beside her, and grey eyes watching her unmoving. “Be safe,” Daenerys pleaded.

Arya smiled sadly. “I’ll see you soon, your Grace,” she promised, leaning out of her saddle for a kiss. With her mouth hovering over Daenerys’s she whispered. “And you should know, Queen Daenerys that as you have changed, so have I.” The two shared another kiss, with Daenerys left speechless this time. The horse led her away from the camp but her voice reached out clear and strong. “I changed plenty the day I met you.”

R-C

On the ride to King’s Landing Arya altered her face, shifting it into the man’s mask, a soldier’s face with stubble and dark shadows under his eyes. 

As she neared the gate she was ordered to stop with not one, but three arrows landing in front of her horse. She dismounted and stood next to the animal, keeping her hands up. “I come from the Wall seeking recruits!” she yelled. 

A contingent of archers looked down from the battlements along with their commander. “Why now? The city is closed.”

“The Night’s Watch is always looking for new men,” she said in her strongest voice. “It was a long ride down from the Wall, I meant to be here weeks ago.”

From somewhere she couldn’t see or hear the decision was made to let her in. “Leave your blade,” the commander called to her. “Leave the weapon and you can come and gather the scum.”

The face showed nothing, but behind it, Arya Stark’s face smirked with triumph. Her hands reached for her belt and she removed her sword. “I mean no one in King’s Landing any harm,” she lied. “I’m simply doing my duty.”

Leaving the sword in the dirt she walked to the bridge and waited until it was lowered. She crossed the moat and approached the gate while it was being opened from the other side. 

One of Daenerys’s children chose that moment to swoop down, scaring the guards and sending them running for cover. Once they recovered Arya asked, “Is that common? No dragons in King’s Landing last time I came through.”

The commander spit to the side. “It’s that stupid fucking Dragon Whore. She’s got her army of freed slaves waiting outside the city. She thinks her pets and a few peasants with spears can scare us but she’s wrong. King’s Landing and the armies of the Seven Kingdoms will see her dead or returned across the Sea.”

While rage boiled under her skin, she was forced to act the part of Arry, a trusted brother of the Night’s Watch. Although Arya wanted his head for his slanderous words, Arry knew he had to bide his time. “Its pretty quiet,” she commented as they moved through the familiar streets.”

With a look toward the sky, one of the men answered. “It’s those damned cursed beasts, they’ve got everyone staying inside. Seven Hells, I’d be inside if I hadn’t been ordered to patrol.”

Under her mask Arya grinned. That was all she needed to know. For hours she went through the motions, she met with the captain of the guards, the Hand to the Queen and the jailor from the dungeons. “We have twelve we can give you,” the captain informed. “All criminals but still.”

Again she thought of Jon. “The Wall needs every boy it can get.”

After a brief meal Arya was brought a line of chained criminals. The oldest appeared to be a man in his mid-twenties while the youngest didn’t have ten summers, a girl with thick bruises covering her skin. 

Although the Watch didn’t take girls Arya didn’t feel comfortable leaving her behind. Not knowing what was coming next. “The Wall has no use for the girl, but I’ll take her anyway and find her a home.”

One of the guards laughed, making the girl in question recoil, hiding behind the lad in front of her. “She’ll fetch you a good price, the boys and I have been teaching her a few things.”

Arya wanted his blood but resisted. Instead wearing the face of a hardened soldier she smiled as best she could to the child and led the group toward the exit. “Leaving so soon?”

“It’s a long walk to the Wall, the sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll arrive.”

They were back in front of the gate, with the bridge lowered over the moat when the captain provided his final pearl of wisdom. “Watch out for the Dragon Queen and her army, I hear she feeds wanderers to her lizards.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

R-C

 

When she approached the gate with a team of eight guards and her line of convicts she could sense Nymeria’s presence. Arya took comfort from the knowledge that if Nymeria was close by, then so was Daenerys. 

The moment the gate was open wide enough the arrows started flying. She couldn’t see them in the darkness but she knew they were all out there in the shadows, the Unsullied, the Dothraki, even the sell-swords. 

With a shriek a dragon dove down, breathing fire at the archers on the battlements. Arya leapt into action. With a sharp kick to the back of the knee, one of the guards fell. She capitalized and drew his blade from his belt, sticking it through is back before he could protest. 

Immediately the criminals chained together began screaming for the key. Arya ignored them, as she danced away from the swipe of a sword. Steel clashed together and she heard the voice of the commander screaming to shut the gate. With a worried flick of her eyes she looked toward the gate and saw the opening getting smaller.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the Hound took a massive swing and struck down two men before he avoided another and rushed deeper into the city. Arya didn’t need to ask to know where he was going. He was long overdue for a meeting with his brother. 

With new purpose she ducked a blow, and swiped across a guard’s midsection. As he dropped she stepped over him and parried to avoid a stab. As a spear set to impale her she killed the man holding it and then turned their weapon back on them. With a grunt she heaved the wood through the air, in the direction of the two-man team working the gate. She hit her target in the heart and he dropped to the ground while his friend called for aid. Aid didn’t come, but Arya did, making short work of him and the remaining guards. 

Not surprisingly Daenerys was one of the first through the gate, with Jorah and Kovarro flanking her. Upon seeing them Arya altered her face to its true form and removed the Black clothing, showcasing her custom armor. Tyrion and Missandei stayed back slightly as Grey Worm’s Unsullied flooded in, taking the fight to the guards deeper in the city. The Dothraki stayed close to their Khaleesi, who wouldn’t leave Arya’s side. 

“Are you all right?” the concerned ruler demanded to know. 

“I’m fine your Grace, just as I vowed I would be.”

Word of the battle spread and screams could be heard from one side of the city to the other. Those the dragons didn’t force into their homes were sent there by the battle, leaving only warriors and the poor out on the street. 

“What of them?” Arya asked, looking at her captives. “They were turned over to become members of the Night’s Watch.”

“Even the girl?” Tyrion wondered. 

“Seems so,” Arya said, certain her expression matched the horror on Tyrion’s and the fury on Daenerys’s

Daenerys seemed to weight her options as the fight continued on around her. “You were to become members of the Night’s Watch in exchange for a pardon. I am Daenerys Targaryen and I give you your pardon. Whatever you did to get here is forgiven,” she said in a loud, strong, clear voice. The chained men all grinned as if it were their name day as they realized freedom was close at hand. “But know this,” she continued as she walked the length of the line, passing by each chained man to look him in the eye. “If you harm another soul for the remainder of your days I will find you and justice will come in the form of dinner for my dragons!” At the horrified expressions she smirked. “I shall remember your faces, and the second chance I provided you all today. Don’t make me regret it. Any man who wishes may join my army, any man with a trade will be provided work but break this Queen’s law and you’ll die screaming!”

Arya felt nothing but pride as she watched Daenerys handle the criminals with ease. When she ordered Jorah to release them, Arya prepared for a battle, but it was unnecessary. The men all left as quickly as they could, desperate to get far away from the chaos. Only the scared, bruised girl remained. In a firm voice Daenerys called Missandei over and introduced her. Just before she and Daenerys stepped away Arya heard the girl say her name was Sara. 

With the battle happening in front of them, Daenerys drew her sword and waved for Kovarro to provide Arya with her weapons. As soon as she had them properly affixed to her body she felt whole again, and ready for what was about to happen. 

“Khaleesi, you must stay back until the Unsullied make a path to the Keep,” Jorah instructed, keeping himself in front of Daenerys at all times. 

“I believe the Queen Lannister and I are overdue for a chat,” Daenerys commented casually. “I think it’s time we were introduced don’t you.”

Jorah turned and stared at his Queen as if he didn’t understand her words. “Khaleesi…”

“Worry not Ser Jorah,” she told him. “We have a plan.”

“We?”

With a shrill whistle Arya brought both a direwolf and a dragon to heel. Drogon swooped down, away from his siblings and landed just outside the gate. Arya, Jorah and Daenerys walked toward the creature together. 

Before they parted, they shared a passionate kiss, that had Jorah looking away and blushing red. It was Daenerys who pulled away first. “You girls be careful,” she said, ruffling Arya’s hair and then doing the same to Nymeria.

“You too, your Grace,” she said with a royal bow, grabbing Daenerys by the hips and lifting her with ease onto the waiting dragon’s back. 

Daenerys flashed her a beautiful smile and held out her hand for Arya to take. The Stark held the hand and felt the dragon’s blood racing underneath. “I’ll meet you in the throne room,” Daenerys said, making it appear as more of a pledge than a plan. 

“Meet you in the throne room,” she promised. 

They both watched the woman they loved be carried off on the back of her son. As soon as she was lost to the clouds Jorah turned on her. “What were you thinking?” he asked, swinging his blade and nearly removing her ear. “Sending her alone like that.”

“She won’t be alone. I’ll be there, and so will Grey Worm, Kovarro, you and any others who survive.”

Caught up in their argument she almost didn’t notice. The hurried footsteps coming from the opposite direction. Pulling her sword away from Jorah she pivoted and buried the steel into her attacker’s gut. She danced like Syrio taught her, always striking with precision and control. As she avoided a trio of guards she noticed a man sneaking up on Jorah. She watched from the corner of her eye, waiting to see if the old knight would adjust but the interloper went unnoticed. When she couldn’t wait anymore she took the dagger from her boot and threw it end over end, just as she’d done in the alley to save Kovarro months earlier. Her strike wasn’t perfect, but it slowed the attacker and alerted Jorah to his presence. She finished her dance with the guards and Jorah did the same with his. They had to dodge steel and arrows all the way to the castle. “Why?”

She knew what he was asking so she didn’t seek clarification. “She cares for you and you provide her good advice,” Arya explained before she sliced a Lannister guard across the neck. “And… she’d be sad if you died.”

R-C

 

Daenerys flew over the battle, watching as clouds passed all around her. As she saw the bodies falling she couldn’t help but wonder if any of the tiny people below were her Wolf. 

Rounding the last turn toward the castle she saw a line of heavily armored men holding longbows and crossbows. She held her sword a little tighter, and thought of her ancestors. Would they be proud of her now?

A breath of fire burned the fifty men lining a Northern battlement. When all of them were dead, or dying the dragon landed in a pile of smoke and ash and allowed his mother to climb down. 

Remembering all of Arya’s lessons she angled her body and moved slow, taking note of the details around her as she moved about. Tyrion had described the layout of the castle in painstaking detail so Daenerys knew where she was, and where she was most likely to find the fake Queen. 

 

R-C

 

Nymeria darted away from Arya when they were only halfway to the castle. She considered calling out to her, but she knew that there was only one other person Nym would be going to protect, so Arya said nothing. 

By the time they reached the castle there had been heavy losses on both sides. Fires, bodies and blood were in every direction. The dragons had helped, and most of the smallfolk stayed indoors, but Cersei still had an army standing in front of her. 

Inside she felt her chest tighten with each step she took toward the throne room. Each time she bloodied her sword, each time she cursed as she avoided a strike, each time she sent the Many Faced God a new playmate, she thought of her parents, and her brothers, and Daenerys and even Sansa, and everyone else who had ever mattered to her. The horrors of her childhood and her years of pain led her here, not only to the castle where she would find her revenge, but to Daenerys, the woman she loved. 

R-C

 

With Drogon’s help she entered the throne room through a hole in the wall. As the beast stepped back, his tiny mother climbed through the opening, sword in hand. 

Cersei was sitting on her throne as if she hadn’t a care in the world. In front of her twelve members of her elite guard, arranged in four groups of three. 

Standing from her seat, her red dress flowed down her body, like a perfect lady. “Daenerys Targaryen, I presume.”

She stood straight and fearless as she watched the guards for any sign they intended to attack. “Lady Lannister this needn’t go on. Step down and swear loyalty to me as your brother has and this can end.”

She spat out a harsh laugh. “My brother is a fool. Apparently you are too. You came here alone? Not very clever.”

“I’m not alone,” she said confidently. To prove the point, the dragon inserted his head back into the opening and snapped at the nearest group of guards. Daenerys took perverse pleasure from watching Cersei pull back in fear. 

“Let’s talk then shall we?” 

 

R-C

 

Coming from the left as she approached the throne room Arya was wounded but alive and mobile. She arrived at the corner just as Jamie Lannister approached from the right. She turned her sword on him and he stepped back. “Easy now,” he said as he backed up as far as he could. With his back against the wall he let out an uneasy laugh. “Seems we both had the same idea, didn’t we?”

“Think so King Slayer? I wasn’t going in for a quick roll in the hay,” she challenged, moving her blade down his chest, pressing against the armor over his heart.

Ignoring the quip, he only shook his head. “Seven Hells, I hate that name,” he complained. “No matter what I do, I’ll always be King Slayer, the King Slayer, I can’t escape it.”

Arya stopped moving her blade and let it rest. “Trust me Lannister, after today the people will be far more interested in my deeds than yours.”

He looked suggestively at the door to the throne room. “You intend to be the Queen Slayer then?” he asked seriously. 

“I do. Are you going to oppose me?”

“If I say yes?”

“Then you draw your sword and we fight,” she said taking a step back in preparation.

“And if I say no?”

“Then you are free to go.”

He scoffed. “Just like that? Your Queen wants me to live?”

“I don’t know the Queen’s opinion on the matter,” she admitted truthfully. “It was Tyrion’s request that I spare you, if at all possible.”

“Tyrion…”

“Your brother wishes you well,” she said as the nearby fighting drew closer. “I suspect you know another way out of the castle, I suggest you take it and quickly.”

He looked from the assassin to the closed door and back, weighing his options. “Who are you?” he finally asked. 

This time there was no delay, there was no wondering if she should reveal the truth. With her grey eyes upon him she raised her sword. “I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North and Hand to the King.”

His mouth dropped open slightly and he was at a loss until he noticed the girl preparing for combat. The blood on her sword proved she was more than capable. He held up his only real hand, leaving the fake one at his side. “Then it appears Arya Stark that this is where you and I part ways.”

“It seems so, King Slayer. Be well.”

Jamie flashed her his flawless smile. “You too Queen Slayer.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I waited my whole life to get here,” Cersei explained as she looked at the Iron Throne. “Spent years married to a pig of a man who betrayed me at every turn.”

“As I heard the tale, your Grace, that betrayal went both ways,” Daenerys pointed out, infusing Cersei’s title with as much sarcasm as she could manage. 

“You don’t understand!” she shouted. “This is mine and I won’t give it up.”

“Surrender and live,” Daenerys offered. 

“I’ll die before I see another sitting on my throne.”

“So be it!”

Returning to her seat Cersei commanded the first group of her guard to disarm and subdue the imposter. Daenerys retreated as the first men approached, hearing Arya’s lessons in her head. Be quick, wait for the right moment then strike. 

Holding out her sword as if surrendering Daenerys waited as the first guard grabbed her arm and the second reached for her weapon. With a stomp on the man’s foot she shook loose from his hold and tightened her grip on the sword. She brought it up as fast as she could and sliced a deep, vertical line from the man’s nose to his forehead. As he fell back and died she barely turned in time to stop the sword on her right. Again she backed up, and they dueled while the third man in the trio approached, trying to reach her undefended back. 

Daenerys thought of Arya as she fought, not only her lessons but the woman. She thought of how disappointed Arya would be if anything happened to her, but somethings couldn’t be helped. Valar Morghulis. She was losing the fight and she knew it. She was moving as fast as she could and was barely able to fend off the two guards. What hope would she have when Cersei sent the rest? She felt foolish then for thinking she was anything like her famous, warrior ancestors. She was certain that they wouldn’t find themselves in such a perilous position. 

In a move that stunned even her she turned to her left in an elegant spin and then waited for her pursuer to follow. When he did she pivoted and buried the steel in his gut. A hushed gasp echoed through the room, but her success was short lived as the third guard brought his sword down toward her hand. He knocked her weapon away and she knew it was over. She’d killed but it wasn’t enough. 

“Kneel!” Cersei commanded but Daenerys refused, staying stone-faced and defiant in the face of death. Annoyed by the disrespect she made a snap decision. “Kill her.”

She thinks of Arya in that moment as she waits for the sword to fall, but it doesn’t happen. Instead there is a vicious snarl, a matching growl and a horrific scream. When she looked away from the Queen she saw Nymeria on top of the man who had intended to execute her. Bleeding from a mangled hand the wolf went for his neck and put an end to the threat permanently. 

“By the Gods, more creatures. First the winged demons and now you’ve got…” her words trailed off as Nymeria turned, blood smeared across her face, human flesh in her teeth. “What is that? I’ve seen those before.”

Bending down to pick up her sword Daenerys winced at her injured ribs before she straightened up. “This is a direwolf Lady Lannister,” Daenerys explained, as she petted Nym with the hand not holding a sword. “They are very common in the North I’m told.”

“Direwolf?’ she asked in disbelief. “The Star…” she stopped short of speaking their name. “Where did you get it?”

Daenerys felt a smile on her lips as she sensed the Lannister’s fear. She took a step toward the throne, and the remaining guards with Nymeria right beside her. “The wolf is not mine it belongs to my lover.”

With her façade crumbling Cersei tried to remain composed. “Your lover? The Stark boys are all dead or damaged. Do you lie with the cripple or the bastard on the Wall?”

Behind her the door to the throne room opened and Daenerys knew without looking who it was. “I did not lie with any of the Stark men, you are correct about that, but I didn’t need to because I found a Stark woman quite to my liking.”

Cersei’s mouth formed the words, but she stayed silent. Finally, after a hard swallow she had success. “Sansa Stark belongs to Ramsay Bolton and knowing him she’s surely of no use to anybody now.”

Daenerys’s anger was mirrored by that of her lover, who was still hiding in the shadows and the direwolf who remained very visible. “While I hear Sansa Stark is very beautiful,” Daenerys said, making sure to speak loud enough for Arya to hear, “it is her sister my heart belongs to.”

The Queen squinted in confusion. “Her sister? Anya, Arya, the little girl with the sword?”

It happened in a flash then. Arya leapt from the darkness into a battle against the remaining Lannister guards. She swirled and danced and spun and if Daenerys didn’t know better she would have suspected Arya was enjoying herself. With the battle back on Nymeria lunged in to join her owner and together the two wolves cut down more than half of Cersei’s guards. 

When there were only four guards remaining, Arya was pinned in the corner of the room by three of them, while the fourth approached Daenerys. 

The rage she’d lived with for so long boiled over. “Touch her and you better hope you can fly.”

The guard laughed, sounding as though he was choking. “I’ve never fucked a Queen before,” he said as he closed the distance to an unmoving Daenerys. “Maybe I should take my chance before its too late.”

A wounded Nymeria limped toward Daenerys to protect her but the guard’s laughter only grew more intense. “A puppy and her bitch.”

Furious and more than a little concerned Arya closed her eyes tightly and thought of nothing but her bond with Nymeria. Inside the wolf’s body she felt the pain of her injuries and she whimpered in response as she tried to guide the animal to move.

It all happened at once, Drogon made an appearance, sticking his head through the opening in the wall once again to snap his jaw and terrify both the living and the dead alike. At the same time Arya in the wolf’s body jumped for her enemy, clamping down on his wrist. Sensing her opening Daenerys wielded her sword as though she’d been doing it all her life. With Nym’s help she drove her sword through the guard’s chest. 

While Cersei complained about inferior soldiers, Daenerys commanded Nym to help Arya but the wolf didn’t move. Still in Nymeria’s body Arya had no intention of venturing far, no matter how much danger her human body was in. 

Aware of her precarious position Cersei called for help from behind the throne. Daenerys put the fake Queen to the back of her mind and set instead to helping Arya. She rushed over, and Nymeria followed. Moving faster than she thought possible she watched one of the guards cut into an unresponsive Arya’s arm. 

After another whimper from the wolf Daenerys bent down and grabbed her muzzle, looking into her grey eyes. Without being told she knew she was speaking to the woman she loved. “Save yourself,” she said. “I’m fine.” Nothing happened so Daenerys tried again. “Please!”

Right there while Daenerys watched Nymeria’s eyes changed color and she whimpered briefly before the Queen released her. Looking to the corner, where Arya was trapped she saw the woman looking back at her, rather than her attackers. From an unseen door hidden in the stone a massive man wearing full armor came through, needing to duck his head to fit. Arya recognized him immediately as he went to take up his post next to his patron. The Mountain. 

“Let her go and I’ll let you live,” Daenerys bargained, sensing the danger. 

“Daenerys, no!” Arya shouted until an elbow to her throat silenced her. 

This had Cersei’s attention. “You’ll retreat, for her?”

“Yes,” she agreed quickly. 

“You’ll swear allegiance to me and take your army back across the sea?” she asked, her excitement shining through with each word. 

Daenerys was enraged but she looked to her lover and the answer slipped from her mouth. “Yes, provided she remains unharmed.”

Arya couldn’t listen to this. “Daenerys, Daenerys listen to me please.” Their eyes met and she didn’t see a hint of fear in them, only regret and love. “Don’t do this for me. Take what’s yours.” Even once the words stopped Arya’s lips kept moving. Daenerys watched and after three cycles she understood what Arya was trying to tell her. She hadn’t recognized it at first because she was speaking Valyrian. She stared for a few extra seconds to ensure she got the message correct. She repeated Arya’s silent words aloud. “Valar Morghulis, I love you.”

Tears blurred her vision until she blinked them back. Arya wasn’t going to die, even if she was willing because Daenerys wouldn’t allow it. “I love you too,” she said loudly, not caring who knew it. With motivation beyond anything she’d ever felt, the negotiations began in earnest. “Let her go,” she said to Cersei. “You can have what you want. Anything you want.”

Arya couldn’t let her do this. With one last look at her Queen, her Daenerys, she threw her elbow out as hard as she could, while her leg straightened for a kick. Acting on the moment of surprise she grabbed the blade near her neck and did her best to control it, taking a slice on the cheek before Nym bit down on the man’s leg, weakening his attack. 

Terrified Daenerys watched in horror as Arya tried to sacrifice herself. She followed the wolf into the combat, swinging her sword with equal parts anger and fear. 

The door to the room opened again and Jorah, Grey Worm and the Hound all staggered in with various wounds, while the Unsullied held off the remaining troops at the door. 

The Clegane brothers upon seeing one another forgot about everyone else and moved to the center of the room. Jorah and Grey Worm rushed toward their Queen, calling her name. 

Arya did her best to avoid the most severe of the wounds but she was at a disadvantage from the start. Blood leaked from her face, her arm, stomach and both legs. The only thing keeping her on her feet was the knowledge that Daenerys needed her. 

By the time Jorah and Grey Worm reached the far corner of the room where Daenerys and Arya were fighting the worst was already over. One of the guards had Daenerys’s sword in his chest, and he was dying, but before he fell away he buried his sword into her stomach. 

When she collapsed Daenerys landed in Arya’s arms. The Stark screamed in agony as she felt the weight of her lover and lowered her carefully to the stone. Jorah’s rage matched her own as he assessed the damage. Grey Worm, looked for someone to kill, before he looked to Arya and asked, “What can we do? We must do something!”

“She’s dead,” Cersei provided from behind her throne. She was torn between watching the Mountain and the Hound and watching the final moments of her enemy’s life. 

Arya looked at her with undisguised rage. She growled and her wolf joined in. “If she dies, you’ll be next I swear it to the Old Gods of my father, the New Gods of my mother and the Many Faced God I serve, you will die today.”

For once Jorah seemed to agree with her and they both looked to Daenerys, before Grey Worm’s unanswered question settled. An idea sparked inside her and gave her hope. Could she help Daenerys? She didn’t know but she’d seen it done once. 

Shouting, she demanded Grey Worm find Beric and Thoros. If anyone could save her it would be them. In addition, she commanded Jorah and an Unsullied to take Cersei into custody. While they did Arya knelt on the stone next to Daenerys’s body and watched the blood seep out, around the steel. “She’s as dead as your mommy and daddy,” Cersei mocked. 

One of the Unsullied offered to kill her, but Arya barely heard it. Her only focus was Daenerys. Kneeling down in her blood she touched the dragon’s face, pleased that it was still warm to the touch. “Hang on my love,” she pleaded in High Valyrian, knowing Daenerys preferred the language to any other. “Just hang on, I can’t go on without you.”

Across the room the Mountain was defeating his brother, inching him toward the rooms largest brazier. With Jorah on one side and Arya on the other the Queen lay motionless while they waited for the Beric and his priest. 

As soon as they were in the room, Arya was on her feet and running toward them. In her absence Nymeria took up the guard post, watching over Daenerys. “We need your help,” she explained as she dragged them over. 

They looked at the carnage all around, at Daenerys and Cersei, at the Mountain and his brother. “She’s dead,” the priest said gently. “I’m sorry girl.”

That was unacceptable. She grabbed Thoros by the shirt and turned him. “You saved him once,” she reminded him, using her sword to point to Beric. “Do the same thing for Daenerys now.”

“It won’t work,” Thoros tried to explain, looking to Beric for help. 

“Even if he could do it, it wouldn’t be of use,” Beric told her confidently. “She doesn’t believe as we do, the Lord of Light will surely not resurrect her.”

“Try!” Arya demanded, looking down at the color draining from Daenerys’s face. 

“It won’t work,” Thoros repeated. 

This time she pounced. In a flash her blade was at his throat and in her other bloody hand she held a dagger to Beric’s good eye. “If you don’t try, how long do you think you’ll live?” 

The two men shared a look between them and Beric nodded. Arya stepped back and knelt down, putting her hands on the wound to stem the bleeding as Beric removed the sword. Without preamble Thoros began to pray. 

Everyone watched in amazement and interest except the Cleganes who were still in the midst of combat. Long seconds passed and Arya waited for Daenerys to rise. Tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheek. “I love you,” she whispered to the fallen woman. “I love you.”

When nothing happened Thoros spared Arya a sad smile. “I’m sorry, truly.”

She nodded but it didn’t matter. Lying her sword down she kissed Daenerys on the forehead and then the lips. She pretended not to notice the unforgiving chill she felt. “You came for your Kingdom,” she said loud enough for all to hear, “and on my life you shall have it.”

Straightening up she held not her weapon but Daenerys’s the one they’d selected at the beginning of her training. It had blood coloring the steel, proving she’d been an excellent student. 

The pain and rage hybrid that was eating her whole altered every aspect of life, it colored her vision, blocked her ears, and had every nerve under her skin jumping in excitement. Her muscles were taut and ready, needing only a target. She needed blood. She was hungry for it. With Cersei subdued the only threats in the room were the Mountain and the two injured guards who although dying weren’t actually dead yet. She muttered a prayer to her Many Faced God, these three would just have to do. 

Without looking at anyone or anything Arya marched to the dying men and with two quick swings of Dany’s sword ended their pain. When she approached the Cleganes, Sandor tried to send her away. “This isn’t your fight,” he told her as his sword clashed with his brother’s. 

Too angry to feel or fear anything she stepped into the fight and twirled around a massive sword just in time to save her throat. The duo became a trio and everyone watched as Arya’s fury turned the tide of the battle. 

When the Hound was wounded with a stab to the leg, and could barely move, it was Arya who kept his brother from ending it, by always staying between them. 

Had she been paying attention she would have noticed the minor details. She would have noticed Beric and Thoros praying over the Queen’s body even after their first attempt had failed. She would have seen Jorah muttering in his Khaleesi’s ear, while Grey Worm held Cersei by the hair, forcing her to watch the bloodshed. 

She felt stronger than she ever had, as she swung Daenerys’s sword. Her vision felt crisper, her entire body alert. She put her sword between the Mountain and the Hound again, exposing her side to a bone-crushing punch. She dropped the sword at her feet and thought she had enough time to recover but before she could the Mountain drove his sword through his brother’s chest and out the other side. 

Arya heard the gasp and looked to find Sandor looking at her. To her surprise he looked almost content. He was content but she wasn’t. She hadn’t been able to save Daenerys, and now she’d failed him too. What good was all the skills she learned, all the lives she took, all the pain she suffered if she couldn’t save the ones that mattered?

She didn’t remember telling her body to move, but it did anyway. Holding the sword, she swung at the Clegane only to have him block the blow. She swung again and again, but he was always too big, too strong. She thought of Daenerys as she prepared for her own death. 

Needing to, she glanced sideways to where Daenerys lay. She needed to see her one more time, before the end. She didn’t know what Daenerys believed, but she hoped whatever happened in the next life she’d get to see the Dragon she loved. 

It happened as her eyes swept away from the body, she saw Cersei watching with an arrogant grin. That single expression reignited the fire in her and her thirst for blood replaced her willingness to die. Whistling for Nymeria she had the beast attack the Mountain’s legs while she wrestled with his top half. 

Fueled by hate and all too aware of Daenerys’s body lying nearby she fought dirty. She threw a brick from Drogon’s entry at the knight and when he attempted to cover she went for his neck. Their dance was not one of water and shadow, but one of rage and destruction. In the end, there were no winners, just a bloody Arya Stark standing over a man whose hand held tightly to the blade lodged in his ear. 

Before he was even dead she was going back to Daenerys, or at least she was intending to, until a weak hand grabbed the leg of her pants and tugged. She turned her head and for the second time in her life saw a broken Hound. “Is he dead?” he asked of his brother. 

“Yes,” she answered with no small amount of hate. 

“Good,” he said, coughing up blood. After another round of violent coughing he did his best to sit up. “I’m at my end.”

She felt tears in her eyes again. Why was everyone she cared about dying? “You recovered last time, you’ll recover again!” she said, even though she didn’t believe it. Sandor’s wounds were mortal and they both knew it. 

“Not this time Stark now come here and end it.” When she hesitated he pulled a little harder on her clothes. “It’s long overdue.” He coughed and she bent down to wipe his mouth. “Don’t let him be the one who kills me.”

It hurt to think of another dead loved one, because somehow that’s what the Hound had become, but in the end she knew it was right. Just as her father would put down a dog who had gone rabid, sometimes there was mercy in death. 

Blinking passed her unsteady vision she drew the Dothraki dagger and looked to Clegane for confirmation. He nodded as best he could. “Thank you,” he said just before the edge touched his neck. Their eyes met as she pulled her arm across. The last thing he said, before he couldn’t speak was, “I’m sorry about your Queen.”

Keeping hold on the dagger she let his body fall to the side in a bloody heap. With one last look she ensured the Mountain was dead and took another name off her list forever.

She could hear the prayers to the Lord of Light but they didn’t matter anymore. The God didn’t answer her prayer, so all that was left was death. Only one more life stood between Daenerys and victory and no matter the cost Arya would finish what they started. 

With harsh orders to Grey Worm and the Unsullied, they grabbed Cersei and moved her to the throne she so loved. Kneeling in front of the chair of blades they pressed her head down onto the steel and waited for Arya’s command. 

“You don’t deserve to rule,” she said calmly, despite her hate. “Daenerys Targaryen is the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and I came here today to ensure the throne is hers. Even in death I will see that she has it.”

Cersei laughed as best she could given the circumstances. “Just like your father,” she spat. “So motivated by honor and righteous…”

Her blade was moving before she realized it. She brought the sword down hard, missing her neck, but removing her upturned ear entirely. “Mention my father again and I’ll take another piece,” she vowed. 

A hand on her arm stilled her sword from moving again. Ser Jorah looked at her in a mix of understanding and pain. “You must…”

She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “Are you going to tell me that this is wrong?” she asked, daring him with her eyes. “You of all people?”

Cersei sensing an opportunity tried to talk until Grey Worm cut off part of her dress, stuffing it into her mouth as a gag. 

“Actually,” Jorah answered, “this is the most honorable thing you can do now, but then what?”

Arya didn’t know the answer. She didn’t have a clue. She was trying to get through the next moment, but beyond that, knew nothing. 

Only one thing mattered now, Daenerys’s legacy, she was the rightful Queen and the Mother of Dragons. She couldn’t be honored and remembered with a Usurper sitting on her throne, so Cersei had to die. 

To prepare her for the execution she turned Cersei around, for no other reason than so she could whisper in her one remaining ear. “In case you were wondering about your brothers, one serves the true Queen and the other, well he left you.” She could feel Cersei’s tension as she listened. Motivated by her reaction she kept pushing. “I met him just outside the throne room and we discussed what I intended to do to you. Once he knew, he wished me well and left.”

Spitting out her gag she refused to believe it. “Lies,” she shouted, “lies! Jamie would never abandon me. You must have kidnapped him again.”

She chuckled darkly. “He called me Queen Slayer,” Arya told her truthfully before she shoved Cersei’s face down into the throne harder than was strictly necessary. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Arya the Queen Slayer.” She laughed at her own joke. “I want you to know something,” she said quietly as she looked at the woman she so hated. “I’m not doing this for my father, or my brothers. I’m not even doing this for myself. I’m doing this for her.” Using her hair like a handle she forced Cersei to look at Daenerys’s body. “It’s the harm you caused her that will forfeit your life!” 

Fury boiling over she slammed Cersei’s head into the throne and turned away from her dead lover. Had she been looking in the proper direction she might have noticed it, the tiny movement in her neck, the pump of a pulse that had stopped. Thoros was still whispering his prayers over her body, if for no other reason than because he didn’t have cause to stop. 

Arya didn’t feel anything as she pulled back the sword. Her own wounds were unimportant she was determined to make things right. “By order of the true Queen Daenerys Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Meereen, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons and the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, I Arya Stark of Winterfell, on my honor sentence Cersei Lannister to death for treason against the throne.”

With a deep breath she thought of Daenerys, of her smile, of her soft warm skin and her tender heart. She lined the blade up on Cersei’s throat and took one last look at the Lannister. As she raised her sword she heard a gasp but ignored it. The calling voices all sounded far away as she prepared to bring the blade down. 

They shouted her name, someone was touching her arm, and even Nymeria was trying to get her attention to no avail. Before the sword could fall one voice broke through the clutter. It was a voice she’d recognize anywhere. One she was certain she’d never again hear. She was afraid to look, afraid that she’d find nothing there, that it was all a perfectly terrible dream. The sword she held shook and the voice kept repeating her name. “Arya,” she said. “Come back, I need you here.”

When a hand touched her arm, over an open wound Arya felt the unmistakable heat of dragon blood. At last she turned her head and was gifted with the most beautiful sight, Daenerys standing before her, looking weak but alive. 

The sword fell to the ground with Arya dropping to her knees right behind it. “How?” she asked, as Daenerys hugged her. 

It was Thoros who answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he admitted. “There are no rules for things like this, but this one was strange. I said the prayer plenty and nothing happened, she wouldn’t come around, but then when you started talking, I tried again and I felt something change.“ 

Arya looked to Daenerys for confirmation and was rewarded with a small smile. The two shared another, longer hug while Arya fought back tears against Dany’s neck. “You’re alive.” 

“I didn’t come all this way to leave you now,” Daenerys said wobbling until Arya helped her regain her balance. The two shared a kiss that was entirely too brief for both of them. “What did I miss?” she asked, looking about the room. Concern darkened her eyes. “Where are Kovarro, Missandei and Barristan?”

“Kovarro and Missandei are with Tyrion at the camp your Grace,” Jorah told her. “They are watching over the girl Arya saved.” He gave her a regrettable look. “Barristan didn’t make it. They cut him down before we reached the castle.”

The news was sombre and each bowed their head. Daenerys vowed to honor Barristan’s life and death at the earliest opportunity. The knight died for her, he deserved at least that. “Very well,” she said, offering Jorah a kind smile. Now was not the time for grieving, there was still work to be done. Noticing the Hound’s body, she turned to Arya. “I’m sorry about your friend.” 

She looked at the Clegane’s bodies. “He got what he wanted. I hope he finds peace.”

The Lannister in the room made her presence known then. “Great, your Queen lives, the Stark can cry tears of happiness, wonderful. Now can you just hurry up and get on with it.”

Daenerys shared a knowing look with Arya and winked her violet eye. “You think I intend to kill you Lady Lannister?” 

“Of course, I’m no fool,” she answered, sitting back on her heels now that she was no longer being held to the chair. 

Daenerys’s fingers were playing with the hole in her shirt, the spot where her injury had been. “Do you wish to die?”

“I’d sooner die than see you sitting on my throne,” Cersei admitted, earning a punch from Grey Worm and a hard stare from Jorah. 

“Exactly, and after all you’ve done why should you get what you desire? If I kill you, your suffering will end, but if you live, it will go on for years.”

Cersei was enraged. “You’re a Horse Lord slut,” she shouted. “You could never be Queen.” 

Again Grey Worm quieted her, but Daenerys had a more permanent idea in mind. “Wolf,” she said, addressing Arya. 

Arya stepped forward. “Yes your Grace?” This time her use of the formal title was done purely to annoy Cersei. It was successful. 

“If we’re going to keep the Lannister around, I don’t want to have to listen to her. Take her tongue, will you!”

“With pleasure Khaleesi,” she said looking for a suitable weapon. In the end, Daenerys handed her the bloody dagger she’d been given as a gift. The two shared a meaningful look before Grey Worm and Jorah held her down, and Arya cut. 

R-C

By the time Tyrion arrived, the battle was over. He was surprised to find his sister alive, but pleased when he learned she couldn’t speak and was half deaf. 

“Lord Tyrion, you are the expert in King’s Landing, surely you could find a suitable place for your sister to recover.”

Tyrion’s grin was almost gleeful as he approached his injured sibling, blood spilling recklessly from her mouth, and one hand pressed tightly against the space where her ear had been. “You know your Grace, I actually know quite a lot about the cages of King’s Landing, having spent some time in a few of them myself.”

Daenerys gave her Hand a smile. “I trust you’ll pick the proper accommodations for our guest.”

After Cersei had left Jorah took a knee on one side of the throne, Grey Worm on the other. “The throne is yours Khaleesi.”

Looking to Arya for confirmation the Stark nodded her head and dropped to her knee as well. Looking up from between her lashes she watched Daenerys step over bodies and blood and climb the steps to her throne. She took her seat and looked out over the room. It was all hers. 

Missandei took her spot next to the Queen and announced her for the first time, even if it was just to a room of corpses and her most trusted friends. “May I present to you the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name.”

Arya stood first, stepping forward then sinking to her knee again. Carefully she took Daenerys’s hand and guided it to her lips. “I love you,” she whispered in High Valyrian. 

Daenerys answered back and smiled to first Arya and then all her friends. Suddenly everything she’d been through felt worth it. 

 

R-C

Epilogue:

It was a month after the sack of King’s Landing and Daenerys was already proving to be a most efficient Queen. Damage done during the invasion had been or was being repaired and she’d spent a small fortune improving the slums of Flea Bottom. Her people loved her so much they’d often stand on the street for hours on the off-chance she might pass by. When she did ride by they cheered and called her name while children waved and ran along beside the horses. 

Arya slipped away from the Queen’s troupe and ducked into an alley on the Street of Steel. That morning Tyrion had brought another raven from Braavos. It had arrived and not a moment too soon. 

She went to the location the raven spoke of and met a man with a terrible scar across his face. “Valar Dohaeris” he said in greeting. 

“Valar Morghulis,” she replied. 

He handed her the long package and before she could thank him, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd. She thought she’d rejoined the Queen before she could be missed, but one look at Jorah made it clear she’d been seen. 

He confronted her as soon as they were behind the walls. “Where did you sneak off to?” he asked. “I know all about your ravens from Braavos, you got one before the invasion and another today, so why don’t you tell us what your Masters in Braavos have to say.”

Upon hearing his words Daenerys was alarmed but not for the same reason her knight was. “Do they require you to return?” she asked, afraid of the answer. 

Arya gave her a reassuring smile. “They do not. I sent word to Braavos weeks ago that I needed something crafted and shipped,” she explained. “The first raven told me it was completed and being sent, and the second raven I received this morning told me where I could pick it up.”

While Daenerys was only curious, Jorah was more skeptical. “What did they send you? A list of people to kill?”

She laughed bitterly. “I already have one of those,” she promised. From the bag on her shoulder she revealed the package she’d received. “This was what I sent for, your Grace.”

“What is it?” 

Arya handed it over. “Open it, its for you.”

Jorah and Daenerys shared a look before Jorah turned away and Daenerys moved to Arya. She could see the Stark’s nervousness but didn’t understand it. Carefully she peeled away the paper and found a new sword waiting underneath. She removed it from its scabbard and held it as Arya had taught her, marvelling at how light it was and how strong it seemed. “This is for me?” 

Arya took her free hand. “The House of Black and White has many smiths but the methods they use have been passed down generation to generation since the time when your ancestors ruled Westeros. This blade is made of the finest Valyrian steel, just as your ancestors would have made it. I commissioned it to commemorate your victory and honor your coronation.”

Handing the blade to Missandei Daenerys jumped into Arya’s arms and hugged her tightly while she showered her lover’s face with wet kisses. 

With a laugh Arya turned the Queen in a wide circle. “Now all we need is to give your sword a name.”

“It needs a name?” she asked, incredulous. She looked to her translator for clarification but Missandei was just as lost and could only shrug. 

“All the best swords have names your Grace,” she explained seriously, taking the blade from Missandei and handing it back to the Khaleesi. While they admired it together Arya pointed out the shape, the cool, sharp edge and the three jewels in the hilt, each one the color of a dragon. 

 

R-C

“Did you really kill Walder Frey?” Tyrion asked one night while they were all gathered around a table, more than a little drunk. 

Arya who had one arm around Daenerys answered without delay. “I did.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I went wearing the face of a serving girl,” she explained, refilling first Daenerys’s glass, then her own. “I murdered two of his sons and chopped up their bodies, then I baked them into a pie.”

There were stunned faces all around, except Daenerys who looked intrigued, Missandei who looked ill, and Tyrion who looked impressed. “Did he eat it?”

She nodded before she took another sip. “He did, and then I opened his throat.”

“You fed him his children?” Daenerys asked in disbelief. 

Tyrion grinned and jumped up in drunken excitement. “It’s the Rat Cook. You got the idea from the Rat Cook.”

Arya and the dwarf shared a knowing look, before Daenerys could hold her tongue no longer. “What in the name of the Gods is the Rat Cook?” 

“Just a Northern bedtime story your Grace,” Tyrion explained. “It teaches little Northern boys and girls the dangers of harming a guest under their roof.”

When it was obvious she was still confused Arya set aside her glass and kissed her lover’s lips. “I’ll explain later,” she promised. 

Tyrion was still amused by the information. “Remind me killer never to cross you, I happen to like all my body parts attached, and so do a number of lovely ladies I know.”

She laughed, along with everyone else. “Of that I have no doubt dwarf.”

R-C

It was the first morning after a new moon, Arya woke for the first time since the invasion to find Daenerys not in bed next to her. Pulling on a robe she made her way through the corridors, expecting to see Daenerys or Missandei but likely both around the next corner. 

It was after noon before she finally found them, or more accurately they found her. Daenerys appeared next to her with a wide smile. “Go with Missandei you need to get ready.”

Arya raised an eyebrow at the Queen. “Ready for what?”

“It’s a surprise,” she countered, “now go.”

With a deep, exasperated breath she hung her head and marched off after Missandei. Daenerys who was fighting the urge to laugh at the adorable pout couldn’t stand it. Before she let her Wolf leave she grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. They shared a kiss, then another before Daenerys finally pushed her away. 

R-C

The raven came while she was drying off. Seeing it was from Braavos he brought it to her at once. Wrapping herself in a towel she tried to ignore the Imp’s devilish grin as he passed along the rolled up message. 

Unsure of what to expect she read it, not trusting her eyes when the words sank in. 

Give the Gift to Bolton’s Legitimized Bastard Ramsay Snow. Remain in Westeros, more work will be forthcoming.   
Sincerely,  
No One

Afraid someone might see she tossed the scroll into the fire and watched it burn. Could it be real? It didn’t seem possible. It was as if the Many Faced God had seen fit to answer her prayers. Who would do such a thing? Who could afford to hire the Faceless Men to kill Ramsay Bolton?

Dressed in her most formal clothes, with the leather armor Daenerys gave her on over top, she waited next to the throne for the Queen’s supposed surprise. 

Just before dinner, Missandei left the room and returned with a contingent of men in tow. Arya tensed as she watched. A low whistle brought Nymeria from her game in the yard inside and closer to the Queen. 

Three soldiers came in, followed by a man with dark hair and pale skin. Behind him, with her head down, Arya could see only a mess of red hair, hanging down to hide a face. A handmaiden who didn’t look a day over twelve followed behind, looking terrified by the three additional soldiers that brought up the rear. 

Missandei made the introductions. “Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, may I introduce to you Ramsay Snow, the Warden of the North and his bride-to-be Sansa Stark.”

“It’s Bolton actually,” he corrected quickly, glaring at Missandei, unaware that Daenerys had insisted she call him Snow. 

At mention of her name Sansa cowered backward, while Arya’s focused snapped to her sister. She couldn’t believe it. This was her surprise? Daenerys had arranged for Ramsay to come South? Was it a coincidence he arrived on the same day the Many Faced God called for him? 

After some polite conversation Tyrion came into the room and smiled when he saw his former wife. “Lady Stark,” he said with an exaggerated bow, “you look as lovely as ever.”

Arya wasn’t sure about that, Sansa looked horrible. She was too skinny, too pale and looked as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. 

In spite of her circumstance she curtsied, ever the Lady. “Lord Tyrion, it’s a pleasure to see you.” Angling her body, she showed the Queen the same respect.   
“My Queen, a pleasure to meet you.”

Ignoring Ramsay completely Daenerys stepped down from her throne, with Arya and Missandei in tow and reached for Sansa’s hand. “Lady Sansa, I am so glad you could join us here. I feel as if I’ve known you for ages, with all the stories I hear.”

Sansa blushed in obvious embarrassment. “Stories, your Grace?”

“Oh yes,” she admitted with a smile. “Tyrion and others have spoken very highly of you, and your family.”

Ramsay was tired of being overlooked. “Her family are traitors, and were I not so kind I’d leave her to grow old alone.”

Sansa smile vanished and she stepped back, earning disapproving growls from Arya, Daenerys, Nymeria and even Tyrion. Holding up her hand to stay Arya from doing something drastic, Daenerys approached the bastard. “I think it’s time I name a new Warden in the North.”

Outraged Ramsay moved toward the Queen until Arya stopped him. “I’m Warden of the North,” he shouted rudely. 

In Valyrian she called for the Unsullied and within seconds Arya had spears to the throats of all six of Ramsay’s men, while Missandei directed Sansa’s handmaiden away from the danger. 

“What is this? You invite me here to…”

“I invited you here to inform you that your services are no longer required as Warden of the North. Under my reign Lady Sansa will be welcome to stay here as my guest and under my protection until she wishes to return home.” Turning to Sansa she offered a smile. “If you wish to stay, that is.”

Sansa’s smile reminded Arya of their youth. “Of course your Grace. Thank you.”

Angry at her betrayal Ramsay pulled back his hand and prepared to hit his betrothed. Standing on the opposite side of Daenerys, Arya was too far away to stop it, so she whistled and called for Nym. 

The wolf was on him in an instant, charging through the door and biting his arm until Missandei could move Sansa to safety too. 

From where she was watching, Sansa’s eyes widened at the sight of a living direwolf. 

Satisfied with the outcome, Arya snapped her fingers and called Nymeria by name. 

Across the room Sansa’s mouth hung open. “Nymeria you said?”

Cautiously Arya moved away from her Queen and inched closer to her sister. “I was going to name her Lady, but my sister took the name for her wolf before I got the chance.”

At the obvious lie Sansa’s tears started and a strangled sob slipped through her lips. She ran to Arya and the younger woman caught her in her strong, scarred arms. “Shh, it’s going to be okay now,” she whispered while Sansa cried. 

They’d never had an easy relationship, but years apart and countless pains and hardships made it easy to overlook the minor details. After so many years of assuming Arya was dead, Sansa was stunned at where she’d found her, and with whom. For Arya, she was just grateful her sister was safe. She’d been worried for her since learning of the wedding. It still wasn’t easy, there were no shortage of problems between them, but for one moment simply being together was enough. 

 

R-C

After Sansa had met and chatted with everyone Daenerys arranged for a feast in the hall. Midway through the meal Sansa looked to the empty seat at her right. “What of Ramsay?” she asked no one and everyone at once. 

“You needn’t worry about Ramsay,” Arya promised seriously, “the Many Faced God has called him home, he will not be bothering you again.”

Tyrion laughed, refilling Sansa’s wine for her. “Oh killer, that God of yours must love you to grant you such a gift.”

Daenerys lifted out of her chair and kissed her lover on the lips, surprising Sansa in the process. “I like to think Lord Tyrion that I had as much to do with it as her God.”

The kiss fogged her mind temporarily but when Daenerys returned to her seat, and Arya’s blood cooled she put the pieces together. “It was you,” she said looking accusatorily at the ruler of the kingdoms. “You put the contract on Ramsay.”

Looking at the Stark siblings Daenerys was unrepentant. “Best money I ever spent.”

This time it was Arya who leaned out of her seat to kiss Daenerys. “Thank you,” she whispered against the older woman’s lips. “You know, the note from Braavos instructed me to remain here.”

Daenerys did her best to look surprised by this information. “Really? Imagine that.”

“I was already yours,” she confessed. “You didn’t need to do all this.”

She smiled. “I simply informed the House of Black and White that King’s Landing was full of undesirables, so I’d require your services longer than I originally thought.”

“Dany,” she said in surprise, reaching to take her hand. 

“If I’m going to be the ruler of Seven whole Kingdoms, I’m going to need my queen.”

Arya sat there, with Sansa on one side, Daenerys on the other and Nymeria curled up on her feet under the table. Life was as perfect as it ever had been. 

“As you wish, Daenerys.”

 

The End

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Just a quick thank you to everyone who read or reviewed this story. It was my first submission and I’m glad so many people enjoyed it. 
> 
>  
> 
> RC


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